


Inferno

by Dayspring



Series: The Gates of Hell [4]
Category: Friday the 13th: The Series (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 61,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dayspring/pseuds/Dayspring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micki Foster and Jack Marshak need someone to go to Hell and bring back a missing person. They've been told a man in Cascade, Washington is their best bet. But the man's just a cop....</p>
<p>A daring romp through the levels of Hell, with mishappen beasts,  old enemies, and fallen angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> *Major crossover with _Friday, The Thirteenth: The Series_. Minor crossover with _Highlander: The Series_ and _Quantum Leap_.
> 
> *Caveat Lector: All GoH stories have an element of religion in them. Most of the time, I try to keep my own sentiments out of the mix. However, the very nature of this story made it impossible. I found that Hell is a very personal concept, and so I had to use my own beliefs in its creation. But this is MY version of Hell, no one else's. Although I had to use my personal morals and belief system in this, by no means am I trying to convert or coerce anyone else.
> 
> *This story is based on Inferno, one of the sections of The Divine Comedy by Dante (just google the name and you'll find several sites where the text is housed). The quotes from the story are from the Longfellow translation of the Italian work. Any similarities, or deviations, from that well-known piece of literature are purely intentional. *Ladies and Gentlemen: At this point I advise you to suspend all belief and logic. This story is part fantasy, part adventure, part classical (the Inferno references), part inspirational, etc. I guess if I'd added a Baby Care section, it would cover everything in your average bookstore. :-) But more importantly, it's fiction. Please remember that as you read.

(Originally Posted 10-29-99)

* * *

_From the beginning of time, humans have created three places for themselves: this world, one of Light that waits beyond for those who deserve its beauty, and one of Dark for those who deserve its torments. This place of Dark has several names-- the Underworld, Hades, the Netherworld, Hell...Inferno. The threat of ending up in this plane of pain and penance has kept many a soul from straying; the promise of its delights has enticed those souls who prefer the shadows. Whether the thought of it repels or excites, we have all wondered about its existence, its lure as potent as that of streets of gold and robe-wearing angels. Inferno-- Satan's playground and domain._

* * *

Prologue

"Damn it, Rashid! There has to be something we can do! If Ryan is alive...." The large, graying man clenched his fist in frustration. "There has to be some way to retrieve him."

His companion, the tassel of his fez dangling to one side, shook his head. "You cannot do it. Your power and Micki's combined is not enough."

"What about you? You could help us," the other man implored. 

"I am sorry, Jack. There is only one person in this existence who would possibly have enough power to go on this journey, and return with what you seek," Rashid said with his thick Arabic accent.

"Who, Rashid? I need to find him or her."

"He may not help you. From what I understand, he is a difficult man, possessing great power, but reluctant to use it."

"The name, Rashid," Jack said impatiently. "I need his name, and where to find him."

The smaller man scribbled the information onto a scrap of paper. "Even if he is willing to help you, this may be too difficult for him as well. But if he is all that the signs say he is.... Jack, be careful how you handle him. His authority is far above ours."

Jack stared at his friend. "What are you saying, Rashid?"

"Do you remember the scrolls we found in India?"

"That foretold of the coming of he who walks both heaven and earth, ethereal but flesh, divine but mortal, beloved of the spirits, but anchored firmly to the world?" Jack's eyes widened. "And you're telling me this man lives in--" he looked down at the paper-- "Cascade, Washington?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, Jack."

*****

The redhead paced the semi-dark antique shop, lost in thought and anxiety. The greater part of Micki Foster's adult life had been spent running Curious Goods, not because she was enjoying being a shopkeeper, but because she had a duty to undo the sins of her uncle, Lewis Vendredi. From this shop he had sold cursed objects, and when he had willed the store to Micki and her cousin Ryan Dallion, the responsibility of retrieving those objects became theirs. Jack Marshack, an acquaintance of Lewis', had helped them. Jack was a sorcerer with a deep knowledge of the occult, and Micki.... Micki had turned out to be a fledgling witch. The three of them had done very well battling the forces of evil, and the cursed objects themselves, until tragedy had struck. Ryan had made a deal with the devil to save a child. In return, he had been reduced to a child himself.

But now they had information that the bargain was a fake. The child they had thought was Ryan, really wasn't. It had been a ruse to steal her cousin's soul. Now, Jack was trying to find out if there was a way to retrieve Ryan's soul and bring him back. She fervently prayed there was a way, because in her heart of hearts, she was very glad Ryan was her _distant_ cousin.

Micki stopped pacing when she heard the door rattle. She looked up hopefully as Jack made his way inside, throwing his hat on the counter as he walked by. "Well?" she asked impatiently.

"There's a chance," he began, and she threw her arms around him. "But we need to find this man. He is the only one who can help us." He handed her the paper.

"Who is he?" she asked, not really caring. If this man could bring Ryan back to her, she would definitely find him. "A priest, a sorcerer, a warlock?"

Jack ran his hand through his thinning white hair. "Actually, according to Rashid, he's a cop."

Chapter One

"Sheesh! Is it like this every year?" Jim Ellison muttered, as he stared at the row upon row of Mother's Day cards.

"Yep, man," Blair Sandburg answered. "Where you been?"

"It's been a while for me."

Blair started to slap himself. _Good going, man. Remind him that his mom walked out of his life. Why bother to buy a card for a woman who found something better to do than be a mother to her kids?_ "Uh, the ones you're looking for are probably on the next aisle."

"You sure they'll have one? It isn't strange that I want to send a card to T'Dette, thanking her for sharing Flip with me?"

"This is the eve of a new millennium, Jim. There's a card for everything." He led his friend down the aisle. "Here we go: _To The Mother Of My Child_ , _Thank You For My Baby_.... _Though You're Called Dad, You Make A Great Mom_.... _You Were One Swell Surrogate_.... Now do you believe me?"

Jim rubbed his chin. "Sorry I doubted you, partner."

Blair smiled. "Just trying to make sure you're Y2K compliant, Jim. Sometimes older systems such as yourself--" _Whap_. He knew he should have ducked. Why hadn't he ducked?

"Don't you have a card of your own to buy, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. It's weird. Naomi never really got into the commercial holidays, but I think she'd freak if I didn't send her a Mother's Day card. Of course, it'll probably be Father's Day before it catches up to her." Although he had an address for his mother, it was more than likely out of date. Naomi never stayed any where for too long. For the longest time, Blair had thought he'd inherited her wanderlust. Then he met Jim, and discovered just the opposite.

Eventually, they made their purchases and headed home to the loft they shared. "Jim," Blair began. "I am an observer."

"Yes, you are, Chief."

"And for the past several blocks I've been observing you checking out the rearview mirror. Should I be dialing 911 or anything?" he asked casually.

"No. Just wanted to make sure I hadn't lost them."

"Them who?" Blair prided himself on not turning around to stare behind him. When he had first started working as Jim's police partner, he would have done something dumb like that. Now, he was more of a pro than most actual policemen.

"I've been tailed most of the day. A man and a woman. Old black Mercedes. Illinois plates. Registered to a Michelle Foster, age 36, runs an antique store."

"She the woman in the car?"

"Yes, the description matches. Lots of red hair, beautiful."

"And the man?"

"Probably Jack Marshack. He's her partner at the antique store. Older man. Murky background. I had their records faxed to me." He indicated that Blair should reach behind the seat of Jim's beloved '69 Ford pickup. "As you can see, both have extensive records, but nothing's ever really stuck. Mostly, they've been dragged in for suspicious behavior."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

Jim shrugged. "Read through the stuff, and see if you find a pattern."

Blair obediently flipped through the material, and saw exactly what Jim wanted him to see. "Shit. They're involved in the occult, aren't they?" The word _strange_ had appeared several times in both files. "However, it appears the weirdness stops after their involvement, so I'm guessing they might be the good guys. Listen to some of these, man. Lost children suddenly appear in a small playhouse. Husbands disappear at a fertility clinic and later their corpses are found. Wonder what that was about?"

"I doubt if you want to know, Chief," Jim warned.

"You're probably right. So, you think they fight evil like we do?"

"That's what my instincts are telling me, but all they've been fighting today has been each other."

"Why?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I don't fit Ms. Foster's idea of a 'spiritually-gifted' man."

"Gee, and I thought the wings were a dead giveaway," Blair said wryly, already disliking a woman he'd never met.

"Well, Mr. Marshack keeps reassuring her that someone named Rashid couldn't be wrong and that I truly am the one they seek."

"At least one half of the duo has a brain."

"Be nice, Chief. Maybe Ms. Foster is like Lilith. She told me she expected Michael to send an old monk."

Blair silently cheered Jim's casual mention of Lilith. In the months since he had not only slept with, but banished the famed demon, the Sentinel had been quiet on the subject. "Do you know why they're looking for you?"

"No. I guess I have to wait until they approach me-- or until Simon stops by tonight. I'm sure the two of us can convince them to come in for a visit."

"If you think this is going to get you out of your nightly debriefing, you're wrong," Blair declared flatly. Ever since Jim's encounter with Lilith had revealed his partner had talents he knew nothing about, the Guide had insisted the Sentinel sit down with both Guide and Watcher each night to discuss how he'd used his senses that particular day. It had been a struggle to get both cops to commit to the practice, and now that he had, he wasn't about to let a couple of visitors break the rhythm.

"I'm not trying to do that, Chief," Jim said, holding up his hand in mock defense. He'd gotten used to his "daily review". At first, it had been difficult remembering what he'd done all day, but now he automatically catalogued each instance, and replayed them smoothly for his audience. "In fact, since most of the time my senses were trained on them, having Ms. Foster and Mr. Marshack there will be like Show and Tell."

Blair laughed. "Where were you when I was in elementary school, man? If one more kid had brought some stupid rock...."

"And what did you bring to class, Sandburg?"

It was sad when your friends knew you so well. "But my rock wasn't stupid, Jim," Blair protested. "It was from Israel where Naomi and I lived in a kibbutz for a season. It was great, man. We had...."

By the time Jim sensed the approach of the captain, promptly at 8:00, he was familiar with every member of the kibbutz, including the animals. "Sorry to interrupt, but open the door for Simon, Chief. I'm just finishing up the dip."

Simon Banks didn't even frown now when the door opened before he knocked. It had taken a few years, but he was getting used to having a detective with heightened senses. The Sentinel rarely surprised him anymore. But the man standing before him? Sandburg constantly kept him on his toes. Speaking of toes.... Sandburg was rocking back and forth on his. Shit. That meant Blair was excited, and most of the time, from the captain's point of view, that wasn't a good thing.

He closed the door behind him and decided to get the bad news out of the way. "Okay, Sandburg. What's got your key wound?"

"It's Show and Tell night at the loft," he answered enthusiastically.

The captain glared at him. "I'm _not_ showing anything, and if I did, I _certainly_ wouldn't tell it," he groused quickly.

Jim snickered in the kitchen, and Blair just outright laughed. "Relax, man. Jim's providing the artifacts for this showing."

"Ellison?" Simon asked, turning to face the detective. "Don't tell me you've got another talent? Isn't having five heightened senses, the ability to communicate with spirits, wrestle with demons, and fight for the Archangel Michael enough for you?"

Jim smiled sympathetically. His poor captain was always scared they were going to lay something new upon his broad shoulders. It was starting to seem like every time the Watcher accepted one thing, the Sentinel and Guide came up with more for him to digest and shove into his already overflowing sense of reality. "No new tricks, Simon. I just thought I'd invite a couple of extra people to our party. I'm even making hors d'oeuvres."

"Human people?" Simon asked warily.

"You think ghosts would like Cheese Wiz on crackers?"

"Considering people who eat the stuff have a death wish," Blair muttered, wincing as he thought of the chemicals in the stuff.

"Come on, Chief. Cheese Wiz is as American as--"

"Hotdogs?" Blair interrupted with a sneer. "Shall I recite to you the ingredients of the average wiener?

"No!" the two cops chorused.

"Besides, wasn't that you chomping down on that dog in the park two days ago?" Jim inquired with a smirk.

"It was the first and only food I'd had to eat all day, Jim. If the Cascade P.D. could make their working hours a little more normal...."

"Yeah, I'll pen a memo to the criminals, Sandburg," Simon said dryly. "'Due to the demand of observer, the Cascade P.D. would like to notify you that crime can only be committed between the hours of eight and five weekdays, and from noon to midnight on the weekends.' I added that last bit so you could sleep in late on Saturdays."

"How generous of you, man," Blair cracked. "Just think of the money the department would save on overtime."

Simon had had enough nonsense. "Gentlemen, this still isn't telling me who's coming to visit."

"Michelle Foster and Jack Marshack," Jim supplied, snagging one of the crackers. As long as he didn't focus his tastebuds too sharply, the cheese-like substance was perfectly edible.

Simon blinked, waiting for more info. Jim continued to sample his work, and Blair was fiddling around with the stereo. He sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. Who are Michelle Foster and Jack Marshack?"

Jim handed him the rap sheets as he placed the cracker tray on the coffee table. Simon took the papers and settled onto the sofa, Blair's choice of music already soothing him. With the skill of a man who did it for a living, he scanned the files, and memorized the pertinent data in a little over a minute. "Okay. I know who they are. Why are they coming here?"

"Because I'm going to go downstairs, go across the street to where they are parked, and invite them to come up," Jim said easily.

Blair did his good deed for the week and eased Simon's confusion before the big man resorted to begging. "They've been following Jim all day."

"Why am I just learning this?"

Jim shrugged. "They're harmless, Simon, and the discussion we're going to have, isn't the kind we should have at the station. If I am the man they seek--"

"Seek for what?"

"That's the $64,000 question, Simon," Blair said. "Since their records indicate a certain involvement in the occult, we figure--"

"That whatever it is, has to do with...." The captain tapped his forearms in the spots where Jim's arms bore the symbols of Michael's army-- a sword and a scale. "Please tell me this isn't going to involve a number of dead bodies whose deaths cannot be explained in five words or less," he moaned.

"I have no idea, sir, but I suspect explanations will be hard to come by. I'll be back in a minute." Jim reached for the door.

"You need backup, Jim?" Simon asked softly. Sure, he complained all the time, but when it mattered, he knew, and accepted, exactly what he was-- Watcher to Jim's Sentinel.

The detective shook his head. "Trust me. There won't be any trouble." He closed the door behind himself.

Through the thick door, and despite the ever-growing distance as he headed down the stairs, Jim could hear the conversation going on in the apartment. "You people better have more food than this." Simon's distinct voice was made less distinct as he munched on a cracker. "You promised to feed me if I agreed to these little tete-a-tetes, Sandburg."

"The delivery guy is coming with Chinese."

"Good. Tomorrow I want Thai."

"I'm cooking tomorrow."

"Even better. Damn, that's good. Wonder if Jim would notice if...."

Jim smiled and headed out the back of the building.

Chapter Two

Jim was still smiling as he approached the car from behind. His stalkers had yet to notice his presence, and both jumped nervously as he tapped on the top of the car. "You two must be tired of that car by now, even if it is as big as a boat. So, why don't you come on upstairs with me. You can stretch, use the facilities, and there's Chinese food coming," he offered casually.

Jack recovered first. "I'm sorry, sir, but you must have us confused with--"

"Jack Marshack and Michelle 'Micki' Foster, right? I'm Jim Ellison, the man you've been following all day. Forget the confusion story and come on. You know I'm a cop, so I'm not leading you into a trap or anything. I just thought it would be more comfortable to talk at my loft."

The two shared a look and reluctantly got out of the car. "How...how do you know who we are, Mr. Ellison?" Micki ventured to ask.

"You mean what kind of magic did I use?" Jim asked with a grin. "Police magic. I ran your plates." 

"How clever of you," Micki remarked acridly.

"Yeah, they even pay me for cleverness like that. Ain't that a hoot," he replied, acting like the hick she was apparently thinking he was. _Never judge a man by his hayseed truck, Ms. Foster._ "So, do you have a hotel room, or are the two of you living in your car? I'm asking because I have a pretty comfortable sofa, and sleeping bags. Of course, Blair would probably give up his bed for you, ma'am. He's a gentleman like that."

"Blair?"

"My loftmate. He's a grad student at the university, and my partner on the force. So, do I need to stop by the basement and get the sleeping bags?"

"We have somewhere to stay, Detective," Jack said, as they entered the elevator. "But thanks for the offer." 

Jim shrugged. "Not a problem. We've slept, what? Up to eight, I think."

"You and this Blair run some kind of hostel, Mr.-- Detective Ellison?" Micki asked curiously.

"Just call me Jim. And not exactly." A hostel for the demon-pursued. _Bet Blair can come up with a catchy name for the place._ His nose twitched as they left the lift. "The food's here." Seconds later, an Asian teen climbed up the three flights. Jim already had the money out of his wallet.

"Hey, Det. Ellison," the teen greeted him with a familiar grin, setting a huge box on the floor.

"Hey, Sammy. How's the family?"

"Doing great." He looked at the man and woman standing with his customer. "Mama said you must be having company, that even you, Blair, and Captain Banks couldn't eat this much. So, she threw in some extra fortune cookies."

"I don't see them listed on the bill."

Sammy rolled his eyes. "You and Blair order from us so much, that you've practically put Saundra through college. We wouldn't charge you for a handful of fortune cookies, especially since I leave for college in the fall."

Jim laughed. "Not to mention your three younger siblings." He pulled out the money and handed it to the kid. Then he gave him another bill. "Stick that one in your college fund."

Sammy grinned. "Thanks. I can order a couple of pizzas with that when I have a late-night study session going."

"Pizzas?" Jim lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"What? You think I'm going to be ordering Chinese take-out?" Sammy scoffed, disappearing back down the stairs.

Jim picked up the box. "Would one of you mind opening the door for me? Number 307." Jack rushed to do the honors.

"Oh, you have the food," Blair exclaimed, looking up when the door opened. "We were wondering if you were having any problems issuing the invitation," he said discreetly.

"No problems." Jim set the box on the cooking island, and turned to make introductions. "Blair Sandburg, Captain Simon Banks, this is Michelle Foster and Jack Marshack."

"How do you do?" Jack said, shaking their hands. "Just call us Jack and Micki."

"I'm Blair, and this is Captain Banks." He leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, "He can be rather formal, but eventually you'll realize it's part of his charm."

"Sandburg!" Simon yelled, offended.

"See what I mean?" Blair replied with a wink.

"Don't scare off our guests before we eat," Jim chided, getting out silverware. "Contrary to what you just heard, we're pretty informal around here. Grab a plate and serve yourselves."

"It doesn't have MSG, does it?" Micki asked. She took a step backward when she saw how affronted all three of her hosts looked. "I'm sorry. I just thought it wise to ask."

"No, no MSG," Jim replied quietly. The preservative was dangerous to his heightened sensibilities.

"How long have you been in Cascade?" Blair asked politely.

"We arrived yesterday," Jack answered.

"Didn't take you too long to find me," Jim remarked.

"You're very well known, Detective."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm flattered. It must have been quite boring, following me around all day. Next time, make it easier on yourselves, and just drop by the station for a chat."

"We weren't exactly sure you were the person we were looking for. We still aren't."

"Well, until you tell me who you're looking for and why, I can't tell you if you have the right person or not."

Jack and Micki shared a glance. "We're looking for someone to go on a journey for us, and retrieve a certain item."

"Go see Indiana Jones," Jim said smoothly. "I already have a summer job."

"It will take someone of considerable power to make this retrieval," Jack said meaningfully.

Jim bit into an egg roll. "Talk to the captain here. I'm just a detective. He's the one making the big bucks, right, sir?"

"You know, Ellison, just today there was a memo from Traffic. They need officers to work the arena area next week when the city's hosting that teen rock fest. Maybe I should give them a couple of volunteers," Simon threatened.

"Hey, how did I get involved in this?" Blair asked in bewilderment.

"You're his partner, aren't you?"

"How come it's, 'you're not a cop, Sandburg', when something good is happening, but when it's something crappy, I get, 'you're his partner, aren't you?'"

"Captain's prerogative," Simon said smugly.

"It's captain's something, all right," Blair muttered.

"That's not the kind of power we're talking about," Jack explained impatiently.

"I'm a simple man, Jack," Jim said, leaning back in his chair. "So, please, just simply state what it is you're looking for."

Jack reached out and linked hands with Micki. "We're looking for someone with enough spiritual power to go into Hell and retrieve a soul."

Silence, accompanied by three horrified stares. "Well," Jim finally said. "Although the request has been made several times, I don't think I've ever been told to go to Hell quite so literally."

"I don't know, Jim," Blair began. "I think Susan down in Robbery meant it. And I _know_ Abrams in Homicide meant it when you solved his two-week investigation in five minutes."

"You have a point," Jim agreed. "What do you think, Simon?"

"I think a lot of people want to see you in Hell, Jim. Many of them would probably fall all over themselves helping you to the destination," Simon said amenably. "But it ain't gonna happen. Not on my watch."

Jim shrugged. "It seems you have your answer. I'm sorry that you drove all the way here to--"

"Wait a minute," Jack nearly shouted. "What are you saying? That you _can't_ do this, or that you _won't_ do it?"

"It's obvious he can't," Micki said scornfully. "I told you he wasn't the one. This man is no more spiritually gifted than...than a piece of wood."

"No, Micki!" Jack said harshly in his frustration. "Rashid wouldn't lie about this. He knows how much it means to us."

"Then, he didn't lie. He just read the texts wrong or something," she argued. "Maybe there's another Jim Ellison somewhere, a monk maybe--"

"What's with the monk angle?" Jim asked in annoyance. "Why does everyone assume I'm going to be a monk? Let me tell you, lady, I've spent time in a monastery thanks to my partner here, and you know what I found? Murderers. Old murderers, new murderers...."

Micki started to make a comment, but Jack held up his hand to stop her. "What are you saying? That others have come in search of you?"

"No. No one has come looking for me...for the reason you are suggesting," Jim answered truthfully.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he concentrated on Jim. There was something about him...."Rashid said you would be reluctant to use your power."

"Sandburg, make a note," Jim said dryly. "We need to find out who this Rashid is, and have a talk with him."

"You don't have to do that," Micki quipped. "Once I get through with him.... Sending us on this wild goose chase."

Jack shook his head. "I don't think it is a goose chase, Micki. Open yourself up like we practiced. I think I'm feeling something."

"Don't tell me-- you're spiritually-gifted, too?" Jim sneered.

"I'm a mage, a wizard, if you like. Not really gifted-- but learned in the occult," Jack answered humbly. "I have been in the presence of those possessing true power before and...and I think I am again."

"Cool," Blair commented. "What exactly are you sensing? An aura? Maybe an electric zing?"

"This is utter nonsense!" Micki shouted. "And I'll prove it to you." She walked over to Jim and raised her hand, laying it against his temple. With a gasp, she froze, her eyes widening, then glazing over.

Only Jim's quick reflexes kept her from hitting the floor.

Chapter Three

"Put her on the sofa, Jim," Blair quietly ordered. "Simon, go get a wet cloth."

He bent over the unconscious woman. "How are her vitals, Jim?"

"Steady."

Blair nodded. "She's going to be okay. I think she was just overwhelmed. What the hell did she do?"

"She was trying to touch my mind," Jim said wonderingly. "I felt just a brush of her thoughts, then she collapsed." He looked at Jack for an explanation.

"Micki is a witch," the older man said, taking the towel from Simon and placing it on her forehead. "I think she was trying to determine how powerful Jim is, by linking minds with him."

"She didn't know how dangerous that could be?" Blair asked incredulously.

"Well, she's aware of it now," Simon observed dryly. "She didn't damage you, did she, Jim?"

"I'm fine, Simon. And no, she didn't set off any warning signals either."

Blair stepped back, giving Jack access to his friend. He motioned for Jim to follow him. "Let me see your arms."

Jim pulled up his sleeves to reveal the marks which would signal the presence of evil. "I told you, Chief. They're not evil, just-- misguided."

"They certainly are if they think you're going to Hell voluntarily," he said fiercely.

"Uh oh," Simon said, joining them. "I'd recognize that face anywhere, Sandburg. Can I wait until she wakes up to toss them out, or should I just fling them down the stairs now?"

"Keep it up, Simon, and you might be joining them," Blair huffed.

"Why you getting so riled, kid? It's not like this is something Jim is considering doing, right, Jim?" He stared at his officer when he didn't get an answer. "Jim? No. You hear me, Detective? No."

"But.... Don't you think we should hear their story, sir?"

Simon looked at Blair. "Open the door, and I'll start flinging."

"Come on, guys. I just think--"

"Who is this man, Sandburg, and what has he done with our Jim? You know, the skeptical, sensible one who sends people to Hell, but wouldn't think about going there himself?" Simon demanded.

"What's going on, man?" Blair asked. The speculative way Jim had looked at Micki had made him aware that the Sentinel wasn't offhandedly dismissing the request.

Jim shrugged. "I glimpsed her thoughts. This really means a lot to them. Just think about it. They drove all the way here from Illinois to find me. That's not something you'd do just for the fun of it."

"Is that all there is to it? Or are you getting instructions from--" He rolled his eyes upward.

"Michael has to be the quietest general I've ever served under. I just feel I need to let them make their plea."

"Great," Simon muttered. "Demons last time. Witches and wizards this time. At Halloween, we can charge admission."

"Uh, Simon, do you really want to think about Halloween, man? All Hallow's Eve? The time when the wall between our world and theirs is the thinnest?" Blair asked.

"Thank you, Sandburg. I'll have to check the calendar. I'm sure there's a convention somewhere at that time. Hell, I'll even be the keynote speaker if I have to."

"She's waking," Jim warned. They walked back over to the sofa.

"Micki," Jack said softly. "It's all right. You're safe."

"Jack?" she murmured. Her eyes opened. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us."

She reached a hand up to her temple. "I had tried earlier to read his aura, but he blocked me. So, I thought I would touch...." She raised her eyes to Jim. "I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions, and I.... Forgive me for doubting."

"Apology accepted. Just warn a body next time. I don't like hurting people," Jim warned uneasily. He carefully gauged her vitals, noting she still appeared wan. "I think you need to get her to your hotel, Jack."

"But--"

Jim cut him off. "It has waited this long, it can wait a few hours longer."

"You read my mind," Micki said wonderingly, knowing that was the only way Jim could know how long they had been waiting. If only they had known to look in the first place....

"No. You sort of spilled into _my_ mind. You were too wide open, Micki. If I wasn't the nice guy I am, I could have seriously damaged you. You need to be more careful," he cautioned.

"I know. I'm always rushing head long into situations. You would think after all we've been through...." She looked at Jack and smiled. "I'm sorry, old friend. I know you've been instructing me too long for me to act like such a novice."

"Just as long as you're okay, Micki. Jim's right, you know. You need to rest. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"You don't understand, Jack. Rashid was right. Jim can help us. I'm sure of it."

"Who is Rashid, and what did he tell you about Jim?" Simon demanded.

"Rashid is an old friend. He is a gatherer and researcher of prophecies, incantations, and enchanted texts. When we found out what was wrong and what we needed to do to correct that wrong, he came up with Jim. You are featured very heavily in the written journals, Detective."

"By name?" Blair asked curiously.

"No. I'm not sure how Rashid managed to figure that out. He is very skilled. If you like, I can bring you copies of some of the texts tomorrow." 

Blair nodded eagerly.

"Tomorrow morning?" Micki pressed.

Jim shook his head. "Evening. As I said before, I have a summer job. And a fall, winter, and spring one as well. Although I have an understanding boss," he clasped his hand on Simon's shoulder, "I can't ignore my caseload."

"We're grateful for any time you can spare for us," Jack said, reaching out to help Micki up. 

She swayed unsteadily and four pairs of hands grabbed her. She gained her balance, then grinned at Jim. "You certainly pack a wallop."

"I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It wasn't your fault," she emphasized. "So, does this mean you will consider our request?"

Jim shared a glance with his companions. "I will hear you out. That's all I can promise."

"That's more than you have to do. Thank you," Jack said. "We'll see _all_ of you tomorrow?"

"Jim's sort of a package deal," Blair said, wanting to make sure these strangers understood. "Buy one, get three."

"You and the captain are both practitioners of the occult?" Jack asked.

"Hell, no!" Simon responded. He could hear his grandmother turning over in her grave. The Banks' had always been Baptists. The fact that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been to Sunday Services made no difference.

"Then--?" Jack and Micki stared at them in confusion.

"Explanations can wait until tomorrow," Blair said, ushering them toward the door. "If we start throwing out labels, we'll be here all night. And Micki needs to rest."

"Tomorrow evening, then?" Jack questioned one last time.

"Yes. We'll be here." Blair turned around from the closed door, and looked at Jim. "They have no idea of what you are, do they?"

"Do we, Chief?"

"We know enough to know you aren't Superman, or God. For them to come here and ask you to go to Hell.... I don't know whether to pity them, because obviously this means a lot to them, or be angry at them for even considering the notion."

"I suggest we table the discussion for now," Simon offered. "Jim wants to hear their story. He'll hear it, and then decisions will be made."

"How utterly reasonable of you, Simon," Blair said, willing to be the unreasonable one for a change. He shivered at the thought of Jim traipsing around in a place filled with spirits like Helaire Delacroix.

"Yeah, well, as Jim said, I'm the one getting the big bucks. So, is tonight's review over with?"

Jim nodded. "The only thing I used my senses for was to keep an eye and ear on those two."

"What about tonight?" Blair asked. "Did you read Micki's mind?"

"Like I told her, I didn't actively do anything. I merely saw what she displayed."

Simon chuckled. "Last time I heard that line, the mayor's aide was trying to explain how he got caught up in a raid at Moondrop's Topless Bar. That was back in the days when topless bars were banned in Cascade."

"Ah, the dark ages," Jim panned.

"Simon, go home," Blair said, certain he was going to get no more out of Jim tonight.

"You don't have to tell me twice," the captain said, reaching for his jacket. He frowned when he saw the cards laying on the table near the door. "Mother's Day? Don't tell me it's that time of the year again?"

"Yeah, man." Blair looked at the clock. "The stores will be open a couple more hours, if I'm reading your face correctly."

"Yeah, I need to get Mama's in the mail, and Joan will have a cow if hers is late. Why are you sending two, Sandburg?" he asked, figuring they'd been friends long enough for him to be nosy.

"Both of them aren't his. I'm sending one to T'Dette," Jim answered.

Simon patted him on the shoulder. "You might be a little late getting into the fatherhood game, but you're starting off on a good foot. Remember the sacrifices they made bringing your child into the world, and the rest of the year might be tolerable."

"Simon, the longer I know you, the more I understand why you're divorced," Jim said with a shake of his head.

"Takes one to know one, Ellison," the captain said good-naturedly. "See you gents in the morning."

"Take care, Captain." He moved to put the leftovers in the refrigerator. It would be breakfast for the next couple of mornings.

"So, how does it make you feel?" Blair asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the kitchen island.

"How does what make me feel?"

"Knowing that Micki and Jack have come over two thousand miles just to find you."

"It makes me feel very sorry for them, because their journey is going to end up being a waste of time." He closed the refrigerator with a near-slam. "Good night, Chief."

"Night, Jim." He watched his partner climb the stairs and shook his head. Nope. The problem was that it was _not_ going to be a waste of time-- and Jim was going to face his greatest threat to date.

With a sigh, he shuffled off behind the French doors, having learned though experience that when Jim got caught up in the supernatural, a good night's sleep was long in coming-- if it came at all.

Chapter Four

"Hey, Jim, you haven't seen Little Mo around, have you?" Detective Henri Brown asked.

Jim looked up from his desk at Brown and his partner, Brian Rafe. "Don't tell me the two of you have misplaced _another_ informant? What is this? The third this year?"

"Ha, ha, Jim," Rafe said dryly. "So, have you seen him?"

Jim focused for a minute, running through the faces he'd seen in the past week. Since most informants roamed the same society, he should have glimpsed Moses Temple when he'd gone to see his own snitch. But no. Not even Sentinel recall was revealing Little Mo. "Nope. Something going on?"

"There's a new fence in town. Only takes quality stuff. We figured Little Mo might know something about him."

"Well, if I run across him, I'll let him know you're looking for him."

"We'd appreciate it."

"No problem." The two detectives headed to their own desks while Jim bent over his, continuing the reports he'd worked on all morning.

Detective Captain Joel Taggert watched this, and with determination walked over to Simon's door and tapped. His friend's booming voice bid him enter. "What's going on, Simon?" the soft-spoken man asked.

Simon glanced up at his friend. Once the head of the Bomb Squad, Joel had decided to spend his remaining years on the force as a detective-- under Simon's authority. Even with the change in relative status, the old friendship never suffered at all. "What are you talking about, Joel?"

"Jim has been doing paperwork since he got here, and he hasn't once growled a complaint. That means he's deliberately trying to clear his desk. Why? I checked the vacation roster. There are no changes, so I know he's not wheedling for time off. The only other thing I could come up with is that something funny is going to happen. I even checked with Homicide, just to be sure."

"Funny?"

"Eerie, spooky. You know, like those mutilated bodies awhile back. They happened at the same time Daryl, um--"

"Go ahead and say it-- when Daryl shot Blair," Simon said quietly. Yes, it still hurt to remember watching his son stand in the middle of the bullpen, pulling a gun on his men, and actually shooting one of them.

"Jim took care of Daryl that day, and somehow he made the murders stop, just like he made them stop in New Orleans."

Simon studied his friend. "You been running checks on Ellison?"

"No, but I have relatives in Louisiana. When they hear something about a detective in Cascade, Washington, they listen, then contact me."

Simon sighed. "I wish I could tell you, Joel--"

"No. I think I don't want to know. And I'm pretty sure the others agree with me. We trust the three of you enough to know you'll do your best. It'd just be nice to know when stuff like this is happening, so we'll be prepared to cover for you." Joel watched his friend for a second. "You're a part of this too, aren't you?"

"Not a big part. I'm the one who gets to pick up the pieces afterwards."

Joel shrugged. "That might be the biggest part there is, Simon."

The captain sized up his fellow captain, and knew Jim and Blair wouldn't mind him telling Joel just a little. "There is something brewing, my friend. At the moment, it's all speculative, and it's very contained. If it happens, no one outside the participants should be affected."

"When will you know?"

"Tonight. Decisions will be made tonight."

Joel leaned over to pat his hand. "Then the three of you will make them, and we'll all be the better off because you did."

"Faith like that can get you killed, Joel."

"Or it can save me." He walked over to the door. "Don't worry about Major Crime. We'll take it from here."

"You're a good man, Joel."

"Must be the company I keep."

"Me too, Joel," Simon said as the door closed.

*****

"Before Jack and Micki show up, I'd just like to say for the record that I did not use any Sentinel skills today," Jim said. "Wonder if Micki could conjure up a paperwork imp?"

"You got one-- named Sandburg," Simon joked, while whirling around to make sure he wasn't within range of said imp.

Blair continued cooking. "You know, Captain, I don't have to be an imp to know that one day, probably soon, you're going to need me for something-- a computer problem, a non-cop decoy, etc. When that time occurs, I'm going to remember this conversation. And, not only do I know where you live, I'm a close friend of your son's; I can get access to your house."

"I'm sorry, Sandburg," Simon said in a pleading voice. "Jim just left that opening, and I was filling it before I even knew what I was saying."

"Too late," Blair smirked, reaching into the refrigerator for a bowl. "Now, every time you go home, you're going to have to think about me."

"Why is that a scarier thought than this whole Hell thing?" Simon whined, a smile lurking in the back of his eyes. 

"Because you're brighter than you look?" Blair replied innocently.

"You know, Sandburg, there's always the possibility _you_ might need _me_ one day," Simon counter-threatened.

Jim snorted at their antics. "At least you have doubts about me taking up this cause, Simon. Sandburg here, seems to think it's a done deal."

"You actually think he's going to go to Hell for these people?" Simon asked incredulously.

"I think he's going to try. Whether he can or not, that's between him and Michael."

Simon got that same gut-shiver he always got when the archangel was mentioned. None of this should be real. Not the Sentinel, nor the Warrior. But it was, and he was up to his neck in both. "Have you discussed this with him yet?" He angled his head toward the ceiling.

"Michael will speak when he's ready, and not before. But if I understand my orders correctly, I have some leeway in picking my causes."

"And you think that leeway includes a sidetrip to Hell?" Simon inquired.

"Fine," Jim said, exasperated with the two of them. "You guys get to decide, okay? You listen to what Micki and Jack have to say, then you tell me yes or no. Michael said I was to listen to your counsel, so that's what I'm going to do."

"You aren't serious, are you, Jim?" the captain said. Being responsible for sending a detective out to a crime was one thing; this was something entirely different.

"I'm quite serious."

"Fine," Blair said. "I'll accept that responsibility. So will Simon."

"I will?"

"Yes."

Simon realized a glare wasn't going to get him out of this one, so he busied himself with setting the table. He was just finishing when Jim went to the door to admit their guests.

Dinner entertainment came in the form of Blair and Jack discussing their travels. Afterwards, the three Cascadians sat on the large sofa, and waited for the visitors to make their plea.

"It all started," Micki began, "when an uncle I didn't even know, left me part ownership of his antique store. The other owner was a cousin who I didn't know either. I wanted to sell the place and split the money. Ryan Dallion didn't. But I was pretty persuasive, and we had this huge sale to get rid of the inventory. That's when Jack showed up, and told us we'd been selling cursed objects."

"Lewis was an old friend of mine," Jack said, taking over the narrative. "I would find interesting objects in my travels and bring them to him to sell at the store. I knew he was mixed up in the occult, but then, so was I. I just didn't know he was in so deep until it was too late. He made a deal with Satan to sell cursed objects in return for success. Later, he tried to get out of the deal, and was killed in retaliation."

"Ryan and I felt awful about the evil we had unknowingly spread. We tried to get back what we'd sold, and the next thing we knew, we had made a career of going through Lewis' manifest and tracking down what _he_ had sold."

"What kind of curses are we talking about?" Blair asked curiously.

"A radio that granted wishes if you committed murder. A scalpel that performed medical marvels, but only if you killed someone with it first. A glove that could absorb someone's illness, but had to be cleansed in the blood of an innocent. A device that could drain someone's intelligence and put it in another person's brain. A coin...." Micki stopped, paling.

"A coin that when placed on a living being's forehead killed that person, but would restore life to any corpse," Jack completed. "Micki was both killed, and restored by it."

"I'm sensing a theme here," Blair said. "Every desire or wish had to be paid for with a life?"

"Yes. Often actual blood was the activator of the curse. Dip an object in blood and it gave you what you most wanted in life."

"What did you do with these objects after you retrieved them?" Jim asked.

"There's a vault in the basement of the store. It's hallowed or something," Micki explained. "We lock them up down there."

" _Lock_ as in present tense?"

"Yes, we're still getting the objects back. A friend of ours named Johnny has been helping us. But he's not Ryan," Micki said sadly.

"What happened to Ryan?" Blair asked quietly.

"Ryan had a younger brother who was killed when both were children. He felt guilty over his brother's death, and Satan used this to manipulate Ryan," Jack continued. "While on a trip to France to recover an object, Ryan was talked into making a deal with Satan to save the life of a child. We thought that Ryan had given his adult life in order to save the child. A little boy showed up who said he was Ryan Dallion. We were upset, but I think both Micki and I understood his sacrifice."

"Now, we find out that the little boy isn't actually Ryan-- that Ryan is being held in Hell," Micki concluded.

"For how long?" Jim asked.

"Ryan disappeared in 1989."

"What?" Simon boomed. "You want Jim to risk his life for someone who's been in Hell for a decade! Do you think there's anything left of him to be saved?"

"I don't know, Captain Banks," Micki answered. "All I know is that my cousin is in Hell, and he has no business being there. His soul does not belong to Satan. Trust me, if he had those tendencies, he had ample opportunity to succumb."

"This is crazy," Simon muttered. "Say that Jim does this, that he goes to Hell and brings back Dallion's soul. What happens then? You got a body to put this soul into?" He looked at their shocked faces. "That thought had never occurred to you, had it?"

"No, but if Ryan's body isn't with him, then at least we can free his soul," Jack said solemnly.

"What exactly do you expect Jim to do?" Blair asked bluntly.

"Go to the Netherworld."

"And then?"

"Then bring Ryan, or his soul back."

"How?" Blair demanded tersely.

"There isn't a specific ritual for this, at least Rashid and I didn't find one in all the texts we consulted," Jack admitted.

"So, he's supposed to blithely traipse into Hell and take something from under Satan's nose, something Satan wanted so badly that he confounded all of you occult-learned people to get? I don't think so. Jim's too valuable to risk on some half-assed plan like that. How is he even supposed to find this man in all of Hell?"

"I will guide him," Micki said, and everyone but Jack looked at her in shock. 

"From here?" Jim asked.

"From there."

"No."

"No? Why not? Because I'm a woman? I'm also a witch," Micki argued.

"Then why didn't you go on your own?" Blair asked.

"Because I don't possess enough power. No one does except Jim."

"So, I'm to ride shotgun for you?" Jim asked.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. I can find Ryan, Jim. I _know_ I can. But I can't do it alone. I need your help," she pleaded.

Jim turned his head toward his companions. "It's not strictly my decision. You're going to have to give us time to discuss this."

"I don't understand," she confessed. "I know the power is within you. What do they have to do with it?"

"In this case, everything."

Chapter Five

"Those were not happy campers, gentlemen," Simon observed as the door closed behind Micki and Jack.

"In the immortal words of the Stones: you can't always get what you want," Jim replied.

"You're quoting the Rolling Stones, Jim? I'm impressed, man," Blair said with a grin. "There _was_ some light in your Dark Ages after all."

"Keep it up, Chief, and I'll show you some real Dark Ages stuff. No, let's make it medieval instead. Now, they really had torture down to an art form back then."

"You would know," Blair quipped, ducking the hand aimed for the back of his head.

"This is very amusing, ladies, but I really think a captain should be awake when he's on the job, so I'd like to get in bed at a decent hour. What's the decision?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't have any say in it."

"Of course you have a say in it," Simon fussed. "And quite frankly, Detective, I'm not getting this laissez faire attitude of yours. The Jim Ellison I know would never willingly give control to anyone."

"Well, the Jim Ellison you know doesn't exist anymore, does he, Simon?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Simon asked bewilderedly.

"The Jim Ellison who used to work for you was a good detective, with a couple of personality quirks and a little baggage on the side. I don't know who this freak is you have working for you now," Jim said bitterly, stalking over to the balcony doors.

Simon whipped his head around to the other member of the dynamic duo. "A clue, please?" he begged.

"Identity Crisis 101," Blair said smoothly. He had wondered when it was going to happen. Jim had been through too many changes in the past year not to question who he was now.

"He hasn't hit mid-life yet," the captain said, still puzzled.

"I doubt if a little red convertible could solve this one, Simon." He looked at his partner, slumped against the glass, staring out into the night...or was it his reflection that captured his attention? He looked so lost. "It hit you, didn't it?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me, since you apparently know me so well?" Jim said, without lifting his head.

"It finally hit you, O King of Delayed Reactions, that the enhancements Alicia endowed you with are permanent. It finally hit you, Master of Denial and Repression, that you have been called by an archangel to fight Evil. You aren't just a sentinel anymore. You are _the_ Sentinel and _the_ Warrior, and you are scared shitless, not only by the knowledge, but by the responsibility of it," Blair charged.

Jim gave a caustic chuckle. "I have no secrets from you, do I? You were so certain of how I would reply to Micki and Jack's request. And you know what? You're right. I do want to help them." He flicked his eyes toward Simon. "Sorry, sir. I know you were hoping for better from me. I guess there's been some mental changes, too."

Blair shook his head. "This is classic you, Jim. You are a born idealist."

"You're full of it, Sandburg."

"Maybe life taught you how to be a realist, how to expect the worst, how to accept the worst, but in your heart, you are an idealist. You want to believe that there's a bright side, that people are not bad, but merely misguided, that everything _will_ be better in the morning," Blair argued.

"Bullshit."

"Look at the women in your life. How many of them have you wanted to redeem, Jim? And I'm not just talking about Lilith. I'm talking about Lila, who was a hired assassin--"

"I didn't know that," Jim interrupted.

"But you knew something wasn't right with her. Your senses practically screamed that there was a problem. And what about Michelle Lazar, who was literally 'married to the mob'? And Laura, who was a thief. And Jack Pendergrast's girlfriend.... You slept with them to redeem them."

"This is getting personal. Think it's time for me to leave," Simon murmured. He slipped out the door without either of his men apparently noticing. He knew they'd either call him, or tell him their decision at the office in the morning. Poor Jim, he mentally added, with a shake of his head. He was glad that the only crisis he had facing him could be solved by the sportscar and a cute, young girl. Hell, he'd just take the car. Women were way too much trouble.

"That makes me rather arrogant, doesn't it?" Jim asked sorrowfully, not blaming Simon for slipping out. "Thinking I can redeem them with my body?"

Blair shrugged. "Arrogance is part of your charm, Jim. You're quality goods. You live simply-- heaven knows that truck of yours is simple-- but you are an elegant man. Your clothing-- you can put Rafe to shame anytime you want to, and you know it. Back in the early eighties, Naomi and I stayed with an aunt. She liked to watch both Dynasty and Dallas. I asked her why, because as far as I could tell, they were basically the same show. So, she pointed out the differences to me. Dynasty was all glitz and glamor. Haute couture and dangling jewels, with names like Crystal and Alexis. Dallas was quiet power. Cowboy hats and large belt buckles, with names like Miss Ellie and Pam. Both stories were about rich people. But one dealt with the nouveau riche-- obvious and flaunting in their spending; the other with what my aunt called old money-- never wasteful, outwardly understated, but always refined. You, Jim, are old money. You could be a wino on skid row, and your polish would still show. You're a class act, no doubt about it."

"And your point is?"

"And my point is, that a lot of women feel better about themselves when they attract men like you. You try to save them by raising their self-esteem."

"I think it's a good thing you only minored in psychology, Sigmund," Jim snorted.

"You went undercover in a prison, Jim. Why?"

"Because something rotten was going on."

"No, because you were trying to redeem your friend."

"Matt was dead, Chief. By the time I learned there was a problem, there was nothing I could do to save him."

"But his wife got a settlement from the state, and she, as well as Matt's parents, have the knowledge that he did not die trying to escape from prison. He knew he was wrong, he served his time, and he was ready to straighten out his life. That's the memory they have of him now. Thanks to you."

"Maybe I should do an infomercial: I LIFT SELF-ESTEEMS," he said dryly, mocking those thirty to sixty minute wastes of times.

"Maybe you should. You're really good at it. I know how much better you've made me feel about myself," Blair admitted softly.

Jim finally turned from the balcony doors. "Someone as smart as you shouldn't have any esteem problems."

"'He says to the man who has no idea who his father is,'" Blair completed. "I spent a childhood of being the new kid, of watching others being tossed in the air by adoring fathers, of wondering if maybe my mom would be better off if she just dropped me somewhere and went on with her life. Yeah, I enrolled at Rainier when I was sixteen, because I thought it was time that Naomi got to do what she wanted to do, without having to check out the local schools or make sure my records had transferred. So, yeah, there were some esteem problems, Jim."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I guess I wasn't thinking. When I met you--"

"When you met me, I had been told that although I was a bright young man, I was ruining any chance I had at an academic career by wanting to do a dissertation on Sentinels. That's why I did that song and dance number at the hospital. That's why I followed you out of my office--"

"In time to save my life."

"Because your existence was going to save mine. We agreed that we had to keep the whole thing hush-hush, but I still gloated. I smirked when professors came up to me and told me how glad they were I was doing something sensible like the closed society of policemen. Closed society, hell; I had my very own Sentinel."

"Glad I could be of help."

"No, that wasn't what you did to lift my self-esteem. I mean, yeah, it did, but it wasn't anything 'active'. You had nothing to do with that, besides the fact that you were a Sentinel. What you _did_ , Jim, was take me in. What you _did_ was become my friend. What you _did_ was put your trust in me. It's a wonder my neck can still hold my head, man."

"And I thought it was all that knowledge that makes it wobble up there," Jim said, grinning self-consciously.

"No, it's because it's gotten so big living with you. You make me feel good about myself. Thank you for that."

"You don't do too bad at that yourself, Chief. Maybe I better start working on my neck muscles next time I go to the gym," he joked, turning back to his reflection in the glass.

"Jim, you're wondering who you are. I can help you with that, okay?" Blair joined him at the glass doors. "That man," he began, pointing at Jim's reflection beside his, "is the same man who was caring enough to offer a homeless grad student shelter, compassionate enough to go to Peru to save Simon and Daryl Banks, strong enough to comfort Alicia Delacroix in her final days, sweet enough to become Flip Fourtier's dad, powerful enough to defeat himself on the outskirts of Hell, and stalwart enough for an archangel to recruit for his army. That's who Jim Ellison is."

"But you don't think I can do what Micki and Jack are asking," Jim replied softly.

"You're wrong. I think you can go to Hell, and drag Satan's scrawny ass back if you want to, Jim. My hesitation has nothing to do with doubting your abilities. I just didn't want you jumping into this without thought. I didn't want your heart getting ahead of your brain. Jack and Micki painted a sad tale. I wanted you to sit back, and choose rationally, not emotionally." Blair shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm telling you to hold back on your emotions. But that's exactly what I'm doing. You want to go through with this. Why? Because you want to help Micki and Jack?"

"That's part of it."

"That's an emotional part. Give me something else."

"Because it feels wrong."

"Emotionally or psychically? And don't give me that crap about you aren't a psychic."

Jim looked at him in askance. "When did you get so pushy?"

"When you decided to get so dense," Blair shot back. "Now, emotionally or psychically?"

"Psychically."

"Explain."

"I sense unrest...and unbalance."

"And?" When Jim didn't answer, he nudged his arm. "Don't hold back. By now, you should know I'm not easily shocked, nor am I likely to laugh in your face."

"I don't know this Ryan. I've never heard his voice, haven't even seen a picture, but..."

"But?"

"It was probably just a memory flash from Micki's mind-- a leftover from that stupid move of hers."

"Jim, we're getting really close to an incident of domestic abuse here," Blair muttered impatiently.

"I thought I heard him last night, Chief. Like I heard the children."

Like the ghosts who had inhabited Jim's brain. "What did he say?"

"'Help me'."

Blair slumped against the glass, totally defeated. That was it. Nothing else left to say. Jim was going to risk everything to go into Hell and retrieve one Ryan Dallion. He could stand here and argue that one lost soul wasn't worth the potential loss of a Sentinel/Warrior. He could debate the issue of whether Ryan's soul had been taken fairly or not. He could drop to his knees, and beg Jim not to try it for his sake. That last one might work, but Jim would be miserable knowing someone had asked for his help, and he had walked away. That just wasn't who he was.

"The full moon is tomorrow night," he mused, going over to the phone, where they had tacked up the hotel's number. "That doesn't give us much time, but since Micki is Wiccan, she'll be at her most powerful. And if she's going with you, I want her at no less than her best." He dialed and waited a few seconds. "It's a go," he said firmly. "Tomorrow night. Do you have everything you need? Well, if you figure out anything else, let us know. We'll be at the loft all day."

"All day?" Jim asked when he clicked off.

Blair nodded and hit one of the fast dial buttons. "Simon, we won't be in tomorrow. What do you think? Yeah, it was pretty much a done deal from the beginning. No, no one had to call the cops on us. I gave in graciously. The actual attempt won't take place until nightfall, but preparations.... Whenever you can, man. I don't know if he's going to need your support or not, but I know I will. Sleep? I'll try, but I doubt it. See you tomorrow, Captain."

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said, joining his partner, who was setting up his laptop on the dining table.

"For what? Being who you are? Not something you can control...or I can control, either. But I'm going to see what I can do to help." He logged onto the internet. "You going to bed?"

"Maybe in a little while. I'm a tad edgy."

"Understandable."

"You gonna be able to clear tomorrow with the university?"

"I think they're more surprised when I show, than when I don't," Blair sighed.

"I don't want my baggage interfering with your education."

"As if I could actually learn more there than here," he scoffed. "Sometimes the politics are so bad-- everyone jockeying for favors and funding. I'm not sure I belong there anymore."

"Chief?"

He heard the worry in his partner's voice. "A discussion for another time, Jim. Hell first, then the university."

"Hell first, then the university," Jim repeated, as his pacing led him toward the balcony. "Sounds like a plan."

Chapter Six

_"You like this setting?"_

_Jim gazed around the desert and shrugged. "It's okay."_

_"We could change it. Maybe a nice tropical--"_

_Jim shook his head. "That's another rendezvous spot altogether."_

_Archangel Michael looked at the human who had been assigned to him, or vice versa. After a couple of dealings with him, he wasn't sure who was in charge. "You got an angel on the side, Jim?"_

_Jim did a doubletake, then gave a sigh of relief when Michael grinned. "Hey, men have needs," he teased the being._

_"So Peter hears on an hourly basis. Cheating husbands really don't perceive the practice as a sin."_

_"It's the breaking of an oath, a covenant you freely entered into," Jim said. "Sounds like a sin to me."_

_"That's why you're here, and they're not. Which brings us to the point of this rendezvous...."_

_"So, is it a go, or a no?" Jim asked simply._

_"Jim, I am eternal, and you are not."_

_"Figured that one out for myself."_

_"And you wouldn't see me volunteering to go to Hell."_

_"I'm not asking for your company, Michael," the human pointed out. "Is it possible? And if it is, can I go?"_

_"Everything is possible, Jim. Including the loss of your soul, and your very life. Why would you want to do this?"_

_"It's not our job to save souls?"_

_"Man has the ability to choose who gets possession of his or her soul."_

_"So, are you saying this Dallion fellow made an informed decision and gave his soul over to Satan? That wasn't the impression I had, but if you tell me that's true, then I'll believe you, and this matter will be dropped."_

_"You see, son, this is where you always get into trouble. No, it is not your job to save souls. Your job is to protect souls from evil. That's how we got on different pages with Lilith. You were bent on saving, not protecting."_

_"I can protect, but I can't rescue? That doesn't make sense," Jim argued. "If Dallion made a deal with Satan, and everybody got out of it what they expected to get out of it, fine. I'll tell Jack and Micki that I'm sorry, but Dallion made a deal, and he has to stick to it. But if Satan tricked Dallion--"_

_"That's what Satan does, Jim," Michael said pointedly._

_"Dallion offered his soul in exchange for the life of a child. If Satan abided by that, then put a check in his 'In' box. If he didn't, then he has perpetrated fraud, and if we let him get away with it, then we are abetting a crime, and are as guilty as Satan himself!"_

_Michael shook his head. "You've spent way too much time in courtrooms, my human friend."_

_"If you see a guy-- normal, not starving or anything-- steal an apple, should you just walk by and let him take it?"_

_"We're not talking about--"_

_"Should you just let him take it?" Jim pressed._

_"No."_

_"Then, is not a man's soul worthy of the same consideration you would give an apple? If Dallion's soul is bought and paid for, I'm all for reaping what you sowed, sleeping in the bed you made, etc. But if a certain Dark Angel is playing fast and loose with the rules, then I'm offended, as well as you should be, and the rest of the heavenly host," Jim said angrily._

_For a long time Michael didn't reply, his head bowed, his eyes closed. Then he looked up at Jim, with a wry smile. "It seems there are questions about the deal Ryan Dallion made. Apparently, Satan did renege, but took his soul anyway."_

_"And you guys did nothing?" Jim asked incredulously._

_"A slip through the cracks. We deal with infinite numbers up here," the archangel explained defensively._

_"So, now you have a chance to correct the error."_

_"Easier said than done. Our authority in that realm is limited. We are not allowed to put restraints on free will."_

_"Does that mean I can't go?"_

_"You are mortal. You have free will, and are not bound by the covenant made between Heaven and Hell. You can go anywhere you want to. But-- you cannot look to me for protection."_

_"It is not your protection I'm seeking, but your blessing," Jim countered._

_"Why? You plan on doing this with or without it, don't you?" Michael asked the determined, stubborn man beside him._

_"No."_

_The archangel stared at him. "What do you mean 'no'?"_

_"I won't do this if you tell me not to."_

_"Why not? It is your right, your free will to do so."_

_Jim smiled faintly and looked at his arms, where the symbols and words of Michael lay glowing. "I exercised my free will when I agreed to wear your brands, and accepted a place in your army. Per that agreement, you command me, sir. You always will, until you dismiss me."_

_"Or you dismiss me."_

_"Never, sir."_

_Michael wondered what he had done to deserve such a pesky human, and determined it must have been something pretty special. He was going to have to do some checking, and maybe some fast-talking, but he wasn't going to leave this man's fate completely in the hands of Satan. He'd miss him entirely too much._

_He casually tossed his arm around Jim's shoulder, and they continued walking though the desert scene. "I should have stuck with monks," he mused aloud._

_"Again with the monks," Jim groaned. "I'm going to get a complex, you know."_

_"You sound like your companion, Blair."_

_"Familiarity, sir."_

_"Is that a warning?" Michael teased, not at all sure what he was going to be like after spending time with this particular human. Angels were eternal, but not immutable. Oh, well. At least he was sure that no matter how he changed, it would be for his own good. "Now, let's talk about this journey of yours...."_

*****

Pouring a cup of coffee, Blair noticed movement on the balcony and reached for a second cup."Morning, Jim," he called, as he stepped outside into the perfect spring day. "How was the celestial plane?"

"Michael got bored with the desert scene. We ended up in this mountain valley. Majestic peaks around us, a crystal-clear lake at our feet. It was incredible, Chief." He took a sip of his coffee. "You sleep okay?"

"I got a few good hours, man. When I finished my research, I came out here to check on you. You were in that deep, still place-- like when you were with Alicia. I considered panicking, then I looked at your arms. The symbols had a faint glow to them, like bioluminescence. So, I figured you were with Michael, and I had nothing to worry about. I _do_ have nothing to worry about, right?"

"Right."

"And you have permission to go on this rescue mission of yours?"

"Yeah."

"But?"

"He tried to talk me out of it."

"Why?"

"Because of the free will rules, he has limited authority on the infernal plane."

Blair frowned, grasping his mug with both hands. "What does that mean?"

"That if I go, I'm on my own."

"Damn. I was kind of hoping--"

"Me, too. But interference from Michael could constitute a breach of the agreement between Heaven and Hell. That could start a war that isn't scheduled to be fought for quite some time," Jim explained, as the archangel had explained to him.

"So?"

"So?"

"You're going anyway?"

Jim shifted his eyes away from his partner. "Michael checked; Dallion's soul was unfairly taken."

Blair sighed and ran a hand through his unfettered hair. "I did some research on the internet last night. I know you have your own way of dealing with this, your own private rituals or whatever, which will prepare you for this journey, but it would really make me feel better if you tried a few others-- maybe as backup?" 

"Sure, Chief. I want you to be comfortable with this, too."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, I'm never going to be comfortable with this. You're going to Hell, man! And there are no guarantees you're going to make it back. You can ask me to accept it, you can know that I am going to help you to the best of my ability, but don't expect me to like it, to be comfortable with it. That just ain't gonna happen."

"What is it you want me to do?" Jim replied, his eyes full of apology. "You know I'll do anything for you."

"I'll need a couple of hours to get the preparations. You need a nap or anything?"

"I'm good."

Blair nodded. The good thing about Jim's visits with Michael was that he now knew Jim was in excellent physical condition. Michael's touch was a healing one, leaving the Sentinel healthy and alert. "Aren't you the least bit nervous about this?"

Jim shrugged. "You said it, Chief: it's a mission. I've been programmed to approach them with a specific mindset that doesn't include being anxious and nervous."

"What does it include?"

"Reiteration of the goal-- to rescue Dallion; review of the ways and means to achieve the goal-- other than a direct descent into Hell to get him, I can't think of anything else; analysis of the specific plan to achieve that goal-- 'going with the flow' seems to defy analysis; and a strengthening of resolve that the mission will be successful-- a.k.a. psyching myself into believing I can do what it is I have set out to do. Accentuate the positive; eliminate the negative."

"Do you know how many times I've heard that same set of rules taught at spiritual retreats?" Blair asked with a grin, pulling up another deck chair in front of Jim's, and perching just on the edge of the seat. "I think the Army is a lot more New Age than they know."

"Wasn't it you who compared the Army to a cult?" Jim asked dryly.

"You have to admit that they make you into robots, Jim. They change the way you walk, talk, make your beds, wear your clothes, clean a bathroom, peel a potato--"

"You've been watching _Gomer Pyle_ again, haven't you?" Jim accused. The old TV show was about a misfit Marine from the hick town of Mayberry, North Carolina.

"Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines.... You're all the same little drones--"

"Who save your ass and everyone else's when the world decides not to play fair, or when some idiot uses weapons instead of brains to solve his country's problems."

"Hey! I'm not arguing."

Blue eyes stared at him.

"Well, okay, maybe I'm arguing a little. But I haven't been indoctrinated into your coven, Jim. I don't instantly adopt a certain mindset. I still get to indulge in anxiety and nervousness," he confessed, squirming on the chair until Jim reached out a hand and dropped it on his knee. Blair froze, then gave his partner his complete attention.

"I'm not entering into this lightly, Chief. I fully appreciate the possible consequences of my actions. The dangers of what I am going to attempt to do are staggering. I could be killed, or worse, lost inside Hell forever. I could make it back, but without Dallion...or without Micki. I could make it back without my soul, just leaving behind some limp body that you and Simon will have to watch slowly decay. I think that's the most horrifying of the outcomes I've pictured. I have a living will, and that should help, but the final decision will be yours. You know you're the only one I trust that much."

"I know," Blair replied softly. "But I'd rather know that you're going to do your best not to put me in that position. Don't put that weight on my shoulders if you can help it, Jim."

Jim nodded solemnly. "Know that if it happens, the choice was not in my hands."

"Okay," Blair murmured, accepting the promise. "Okay. But I fully expect you to come back, Jim. I've invested a lot of time in you, you know. So have a lot of other people-- Simon, Alicia.... You have a daughter now, remember?"

"I remember."

"Children shouldn't lose parents. You know that."

"I know."

"And Guides shouldn't lose Sentinels."

Jim leaned forward to place a hand on the one opposite his, the one that had a white-knuckled grip on the chair arm. "I know that, too, Chief."

"I just wanted to make that clear while...while it's just us. Tonight, I'll play it cool, but I can't do it now. Sorry if that makes me sound like a wuss," Blair apologized.

"Not a wuss in sight," Jim said with care. "Besides, I like the idea of getting our goodbyes out of the way."

"Yeah. Nothing like a goodbye to stir up the negative, huh?" Blair mused, understanding the mission mindset now more than he ever wanted to. "Goodbye, Jim."

"Goodbye, Chief."

Blair took a deep breath, and expelled it slowly. "Now, to work on the positive. Gotta go do some shopping. Back in a bit, man."

"Happy hunting," Jim called to his partner, who was already half way out the door.

"I'm going to the mall, not to the big woods," Blair called back.

"Same difference," Jim muttered, and went back to absorbing the rising sun's rays.

Chapter Seven

The sun had arced and was heading toward the horizon, as the mutters came from behind the bathroom door. "The next time I promise you something, Chief, remind me to ask for the details first."

"Bitching doesn't become you, Jim," Blair said calmly, from his perch on the toilet lid. "Are you comfy?"

"As comfortable as I can be with you over there leering at me."

"You prude, you," the accused leerer laughed.

"You pervert, you," Jim retorted lightly from the bathtub, where the water was starting to feel pretty good. He wasn't really embarrassed. The Army had quickly stripped him of any notion of modesty. Besides, the room was lit with just the light of a single candle. Only a Sentinel could see with any detail. "What did you call this again?"

"A ritual bath. It's to cleanse yourself, from inside and out, of negative energies, and prepare your physical, mental, and spiritual self for entrance into a Circle."

"A Circle?"

"A protected Circle where magick takes place."

Jim cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "Something you been holding back, Sandburg? You seem entirely too comfortable with witchwork."

"Wicca and Shamanism have a lot in common. They're both spiritual experiences with ties to the earth."

"So, you're pretty confident about Micki accompanying me?"

Blair sighed. "I understand why she has to go. Her connection to Ryan is strong, and when we're talking about matters of this nature-- spiritual rescues, soul retrievals-- that's important. You will provide the power, but she supplies the direction. Without her, you could wander around forever in search of Ryan. I just have no idea of how powerful of a witch she is. And I worry about her skills. She should have been able to sense your power without touching you."

"I think she was predisposed not to believe in me."

"Because you're a cop, and not some religious figure? That kind of prejudice is just going to screw up the flow between the two of you-- hell, between her and the rest of nature. If there is a weakness in all this, it's going to be her," Blair predicted. He slowly shook his head. "We're doing this all wrong."

"What? I got wet too soon?"

"No, the whole purpose of this rite is to cleanse the negativity, not feed it." He reached down and turned on the tape recorder at his feet. A soft rhythmic sound filled the room. "Tell me about your bath, Jim. What about the water you're in?"

"It's slicker than usual. You've added some oils. The density is different. Salts, maybe? And I smell herbs. Want me to name them?" he asked, used to Blair testing him.

"No. I don't want you to concentrate that hard on the external. I want you to focus inward, Jim. The herbs and the oils are symbolic of the earth. She is always beneath your feet, grounding you, feeding you. She is part of all living things and connects us all. Make the earth a part of you. Accept her gifts," Blair intoned.

"You smell the soft scents of the herbs and the incense of the candle. This is air, Jim. It is the power of movement, freshening and cleansing as it dances around you. Constantly renewing itself as it renews you, giving you breath and taking away that you have already spent. 

"Feel the heat of the water. Reach out with your senses and touch the candle's flame. This is fire. Beautiful, powerful. It touches upon our passion, protects us from the darkness, and is a force unto itself. It warms our souls and guides us home.

"Finally, feel the water lapping around you. It is gentle and cleansing, flowing around us, soothing and purifying. It supports us, quenches our thirst, and heals us as it washes away the dirt and filth that wants to cling to us as we journey. Let the water take it away. Pull the plug, Jim, and let the negativity flow out with the water. Let the water take your doubts, your fears, and your concerns. Let them merge with Earth and she will ground them, robbing them of their power over you." He paused, listening to the water gurgle out of the tub. "Are they gone, Jim?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Towel off and dress. Then join me in the living room."

Fifteen minutes later Jim emerged from the bathroom, and Blair smiled, knowing his friend had taken time to thoroughly clean the room. "There's a glass of wine for you on the coffee table," he called from the kitchen.

"Candlelight _and_ wine? Should I be flattered?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "It's a libation to the spirits. Be sure to pour a drop of it into the flower pot for the earth. Fire, air, and water have been taken care of."

Jim joined him in the kitchen, curiosity getting the best of him. "What's next, Shaman?"

"We make candles. Come, stir the wax while I prepare the molds. As you stir, think of what's ahead. You know what you want. Put those vibrations into your hands. They will travel through the wooden spoon, and infuse into the wax." He held the molds steady as Jim poured. "This set of candles will be blue. They will protect you, and give you inspiration and wisdom in matters of the occult. The next set will be purple. They will enhance your spiritual power and boost your psychic ability."

An hour later, Jim stared at the sixteen candles they'd made. He should have been amused, knew a lot of people would be if they knew Jim Ellison was busy candle-making, instead of criminal-wrangling. But, he could actually feel the power emanating from the tapers, and that took away any amusement he was feeling.

"Now, you dress the candles," Blair explained, handing him a bottle of oil. "Each candle has a north and a south. Take a small amount of oil and rub a candle from the top down to midway, rubbing it in the same direction. Then oil it from the bottom upwards to the midpoint, always in the same direction."

Jim took a small dollop of the oil, then handed the bottle to Blair. "Half of these candles are yours, you know."

"Huh?"

"I feel your energy in them, our energy." He looked up from the table where he was sitting, to his standing friend. "Help protect me, Blair. Lend me the power of your spirit."

"Gladly," Blair replied, hoping Jim didn't notice the tremble in his hand as he picked up the bottle. He had worried about not being with Jim, not being there to watch his back the way he was supposed to. But now, his candles would be there, giving his Sentinel what he needed-- power and protection.

Jim smiled as he felt relief flood his partner's body. He knew Blair was uneasy about sending him off with Micki. She was an unknown player. Such players had entered certain "games" he had played in the military, and he had learned to be wary of them. Some deceived, some bluffed, some couldn't take the heat when it was time to ante up, and some played right to the end. He didn't know what category Micki fell into, so he would keep her close, yet keep his distance.

"Negativity, Jim?" Blair questioned, trying to interpret the frown on his partner's face.

"Nope. Being quite positive, actually." He was positive that he would place Micki near enough to protect, but far enough away in case she decided to strike.

*****

"Did you enjoy your bath?" Jack asked as Micki came through the door that connected their rooms.

"Yes, it was very calming and soothing. Did we remember to pack everything we needed?" She glanced at the contents of the gym bag which were spread out on Jack's bed. Candles, oils, small tins of powders and creams, several crystals, and a small dagger which was her athame-- her object of power.

"We have everything, Micki, including Jim Ellison. I hope you managed to get rid of your doubts about him. I don't think he is the sort of man you want angry with you."

"Don't worry, Jack. I learned my lesson. In all these years of dealing with cursed objects, of going up against unimaginable evil, I have never touched a power as potent as his. And it was so pure, so incredibly white that it was almost gleaming. What _is_ he?"

Jack reached out to brush a hand across her forehead reverently. "Our way of getting Ryan back."

Micki nodded. "Where will the ceremony take place?"

"In Ellison's apartment. According to Blair, it's a sanctuary against evil forces."

"They live in a sanctuary?"

"We have one in our basement," Jack pointed out, reminding her of the vault where they stored the cursed objects

"I guess that is what's so strange. Other people-- living like we do. Before Lewis left me the store, I didn't think of evil as a separate entity, and I never thought that I would be fighting it. Once we got started, I was convinced that no one had lives like ours. Day after day, Jack, we are rooting out evil, collecting these objects, and locking them safely away. It's not normal, but now I know it's not unique. The fate of the world does not rest on our shoulders alone."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Relieved. There was a time when it would have bothered me. In the beginning I was pretty cocky over this saving the world stuff-- after I got over being angry that it had completely taken over my life. I remember when I was trying to explain to Lloyd why I had to stay, why I couldn't marry him.... Maybe if I had known there were others out there who could do what the three of us were doing, I would have gone ahead and married him."

"Has it been that bad?" Jack asked.

"No. If I had married Lloyd, I'd be one of those divorced harridans by now, going to the club for lunch and ogling the pool boy," Micki said with a grin. "Instead, I'm living upstairs above a shop and I have this cute older guy living in my basement."

"Cute, huh?"

"Adorable," Micki teased. "Despite the terror, I had some of the best times of my life with you and Ryan...and Johnny, too."

"I wonder if this has to do with the magic number three," Jack mused. "When we lost Ryan, Johnny was there to step in. And here, it seems that Blair and Captain Banks are teamed with Jim."

"What I wonder is how do they manage to have separate lives? We barely have time to run the store, yet they have these demanding jobs."

"Maybe they have understanding superiors," Jack hazarded. "And, too, they don't have to go searching all over creation for cursed objects. If the apartment is a sanctuary, then I'd guess the evil usually comes to them." He shrugged and started packing the materials in the bag. "I guess we'd better head over there. We want to be set up by the full moon."

Micki nodded and helped him pack. "Maybe when we get back...Ryan will be with us," she said wistfully.

Jack placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed. "Maybe, Micki. Maybe."

*****

"Joel, I know when you decided to give up the Bomb Squad, you weren't looking for another squad to manage, but...." Simon concluded with a shrug, as his old friend came into the office.

"You're needed at the loft?" Joel asked sagely.

Simon nodded. "I don't know for how long. I'm going to take this paperwork with me, stuff that needs signing off on. Everybody knows what he or she is supposed to be doing. If a new case pops up, give me a call, or assign it as you see fit." He raked his fingers across his hair. "I'm really sorry about this."

"Hey, don't be, my man. I'm still getting captain's pay, and whatever you guys are doing, you're protecting the city, and that's what all of us are being paid for, right?" Joel reasoned. 

"Thanks for understanding, Joel. I know Jim and Blair are just as grateful."

"It's okay. Just tell them to be careful. And you, too."

"It's basically all on Jim this time," Simon explained. "I'm just playing the interested observer."

"And keeping an eye on Blair?" Joel guessed, his eyes twinkling.

"That, too," Simon admitted with a chuckle. "I swear those two are going to be the death of me one day."

Joel shook his head. "They are the _life_ of you, and you know it, Simon Banks. I think we're all starting to know that around here. Those two-- no, the three of you-- are special. I know who I remember in my prayers every night."

"You might want to say an extra one tonight, Joel. Jim can use all the help he can get."

"Then he'll have it, Simon. Now, go. We'll be okay here."

Simon smiled and clasped his friend's shoulder. "Of that I'm sure. Call me if you need me."

"Will do." Joel watched Simon get into the elevator, then turned around and gathered certain members of the Major Crime Unit with his gaze. They piled into the captain's office without question. "We need people on the loft tonight-- off the clock. Any volunteers?"

Every hand in the office went up. 

Joel smiled, and began making a chart.

Chapter Eight

"Jim, I need you to envision where you want the Circle to be. We're going to let Micki cast it, but I want you to dictate its boundaries."

Jim nodded, his eyes sweeping the loft. "You called this a protective Circle?"

"Yeah. When a witch or whoever does magick, the area becomes open, and without the Circle as protection, evil could enter the witch, or the magick. Either situation could have dire consequences," Blair explained patiently.

"Help me move the furniture."

Blair helped Jim clear the geographic center of the loft. He should have known that the geographic center and the spiritual center would be the same. Jim liked things balanced and in harmony with each other. Not that the detective realized the significance of a lot of the psychic things he did; for a self-proclaimed unemotional man, Jim often bowed to what _felt_ right.

"Now, you need to set up candles at the four cardinal points of the Circle."

"Okay. Hand me one of your protection candles and one of my power candles-- and a couple of coasters," Jim added, ignoring Blair's exaggerated eye roll. If he didn't have to get candle wax on his hardwood floor, he wouldn't.

At each point, he carefully situated two candles and their matching coasters. He alternated whose blue and purple candles went where, always teaming one of his candles with Blair's. He stepped back to get an overall view when he finished. "Now what?" he asked, satisfied with the placement.

"We wait for the others to arrive."

Jim cocked his head to one side. "Short wait. The Mercedes just pulled up, and Simon's car is at the stoplight."

"It's going to take Micki and Jack a while to set up, so you're on your own for a few minutes."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll go out on the balcony."

"Check your city one last time before you go?" Blair guessed.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know we tease you about going out there every time trouble is coming to town, or trouble has already reached our lovely, but dangerous city. But that's not the only time you stand sentinel over your territory. If you go to a conference, a prisoner exchange, or even when we go camping, you make a pilgrimage to the balcony just before leaving. You check the area for any big threats to the tribe, and finding none, you leave Cascade with a clear conscience. Although it hasn't happened yet, I'm sure if you did pick up bad vibes, you would find a way to stay in town."

Jim looked at Blair in annoyance. "Did anyone ever tell you that you needed to get a life?"

"Got one that I like quite well, thank you very much," Blair quipped. "You know, as long as I've been doing it, you should be used to me scrutinizing your actions."

"By the time I get used to it, Chief, I'll be sitting in a rocking chair on that balcony, musing the condition of my prostate, and gumming my food."

"So, you're saying I have to wait a couple of years," a certain anthropologist teased, and ducked at the same time.

Jim sighed dramatically. "I have to get away from this negativity. I think the balcony would be a nice retreat."

"Yeah, yeah. Go check the tribe, man. I'll get the door." Blair grinned as he heard Jim's steps. Of course, he knew his Sentinel. The man was a creature of habit, almost compulsive at times, but for good reasons. Cascade was not exactly Eden.

He ushered the two visitors inside, and left the door ajar for Simon, knowing that the stoplight in question was notorious for its holding time. Micki looked around, noticing the placement of the candles.

"Jim has already cast the Circle?" she asked with a frown.

"No, he just set the boundaries."

"I take it this is the power point of the loft?" Jack questioned.

Blair sighed. "We need to get something straight here. Jim doesn't do magick the way you do magick. He doesn't rely on rituals, rites, and chants to channel his energies, or conjure up his power. His power just is. Now, if you have a problem with that--"

"A problem with what?" Simon interrupted, sliding through the open door.

"Jim doesn't waste a lot of time going through ritual," Blair explained.

"We don't have a problem with it," Jack said hastily. "It's just what we're used to."

"Good. So, there are no problems," Simon said decisively. "You do what you do, and Jim will do what he does. Where is the man in question, by the way?"

Blair threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the balcony.

"Oh, the usual pre-journey reconnaissance."

"Shh!" Blair said, grinning as he placed a finger to his mouth. "He thinks he's being covert."

"Yeah, right," Simon scoffed. "Am I too early, too late, or what?"

"Right on time, man. The full moon is in about an hour, and I'm sure Micki wants to have her Circle cast by then."

"What's with the significance of the full moon?" the captain inquired. He knew Daryl and his friends had summoned Lilith at that time, but that made sense because Lilith was known as the Moon Goddess-- as well as Mother of All Demons.

"When the Moon rides at her peak, then your heart's desire seek," Blair, Micki, and Jack chorused.

Blair grinned as Simon stared. "It's part of the Wiccan Rede-- a list of do's and don't's for all those choosing to follow the Wiccan path."

"I thought you said you weren't part of the occult?" Jack lightly accused.

"I'm not. I'm a Shaman, which some might consider to be part of the occult, but I don't," Blair explained. "We believe in the harmony of ourselves with nature, and the perpetual spirit of all things. It's true that Shamanism and Wicca have a lot of beliefs in common. In fact, while researching Shamanism, I came across many Wiccan references. I have a great deal of respect for it. If only the rest of the world believed in the Threefold Law-- any good or bad that you do, will be returned to you threefold-- cops wouldn't have to work so hard."

Jack unzipped the carryall he'd brought, and started handing items out to Micki. "So, is Jim a follower of Shamanism, too?"

"Jim is what Jim is."

Jack shrugged at Micki upon hearing Blair's non-answer. "We need to start setting up. The full moon arrives early tonight."

Micki nodded and draped a white shawl across her head and shoulders. Then she entered the boundaries and spread a white cloth on the floor, just north of center Circle. On it, she arranged two white candles, and two bowls which Jack handed to her. "Because you have covered power and protection, to those I will add green for good luck and harmony; red for strength and courage; silver for increased astral energy; and white for spirituality and peace." Each candle she received from Jack was placed by the others at the cardinal directions.

Then Micki knelt before the makeshift altar. Holding her athame over one of the bowls, she quietly called, "I exorcise thee, O Creature of Water, that thou cast out from thee all impurities and uncleanliness of the world of phantasm; in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia." Her athame then danced over the remaining bowl. "Blessings be upon this Creature of Salt; let all malignity and hindrance be cast forth hence, and let all good enter herein; wherefore so I bless thee, that thou mayest aid me, in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia." Laying down her athame briefly, she poured the salt into the water.

Standing, she proceeded to move from east to north, using her athame to draw the Circle. "I conjure thee, O Circle of Power, that thou beest a meeting place of love and joy and truth; a shield against all wickedness and evil; a boundary between men and the realms of the Mighty Ones; a rampart and protection that shall preserve and contain the power that we shall raise within thee. Wherefore do I bless thee and consecrate thee, in the names of Cernunnos and Aradia."

Placing the athame reverently on the altar, Micki picked up the bowl of saltwater, and dipped her fingers into it. Once again, she moved deosil, or clockwise, sprinkling the water as she went. "Black spirits and white, Red spirits and grey, Harken to the rune I say. Four points of the Circle, weave the spell, East, South, West, North, your tale tell. East is for break of day, South is white for the noontide hour, in the West is twilight grey, and North is black, for the place of power. Three times round the Circle's cast. Witness it and guard it fast."

Blair and Simon watched the ritual in fascination, both jumping slightly when Micki extended her athame and all twelve candles ignited.

"Neat trick," Jim murmured, causing them to jump again because they hadn't heard the Sentinel enter the room. "Is that it?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, the Circle is complete."

"Not quite," Jim disagreed. "Can we enter?" 

Micki walked over and cut a "doorway" with her athame.

"What's going on, Jim?" Simon asked when his friend beckoned him enter the Circle as well.

"I prefer a little more protection."

"Oh," Simon said knowingly. "We're going to do a Sentry Special." That was what Daryl had started calling the protective orb Jim had woven around him when Lilith had been a danger to his body and soul. Daryl knew that Jim was a Sentinel-- a chorus of demons had informed him of the news one terrifying night at the loft-- so, he had created a video game called Sentry, which served to confuse people and protect Jim.

Jim, Blair, and Simon linked hands, forming their own small circle, then Jim began to speak:

All stand fast--

Spirits of the past,

Beasts of sunlight,

Creatures of moonlight,

Plants of every kind,

Entities of the mind--

All that be,

Stand fast with me

Against evil dark and evil fair,

That which slithers, or flies in the air;

Against they who poison, they who taint,

Be ye not timid, nor be ye faint.

Against evil all,

We raise this wall:

A shield of trust

Between darkness and us.

Blair felt the air thicken around them, and watched in fascination as the shield began forming at the base of the imaginary Circle. A network of silver, gold, and light gray strands slowly closed around them, ending about ten feet above them-- they didn't call it a loft for nothing. He couldn't stop the grin from forming as he caught the stunned look on Micki's face. Maybe Jim didn't do a whole lot of spell-casting, but when he did-- damn, the man did fine work!

Jack walked slowly forward, his hand cautiously reaching for the dome, but his hand and the rest of his body moved through it without resistance. "This is amazing," he murmured. "I have never seen anything like it. What is it made of?"

"The energies of the universe," Blair replied softly. "With a bit of Jim, Simon, and me thrown in for good measure." He knew he was responsible for the gold filaments, Simon for the silver ones, and Jim for the titanium ones. Inside each strand were the essences of all the entities who Jim had petitioned for help.

"All ashore who's going ashore," Jim called, folding his long legs to sit in the center of _his_ Circle. "We have a journey to make," he reminded them.

They nodded, and the men left, leaving Micki to sit before Jim, her long swirling skirt puddling around her. "What do you need for me to do?" she asked obediently. There was no doubt in her mind who was in charge of this now.

"Give me your hands." She obeyed. "Now, close your eyes. Think of Ryan. Think of our destination. We take our light willingly into the darkness. Say it with me, Micki."

"We take our light willingly into the darkness," they chanted together.

Outside the dome, Blair shivered. Jim's voice had deepened, the tone modulated to a hypnotic timbre-- almost like his own Guide voice, but much, much more. Knowing Jim had channeled spirits before, he wondered if that was what was happening now. Before he could try to figure it out, the chanting stopped, the lights dimmed, and the candles flickered.

When the loft returned to normal, Blair's eyes immediately sought Jim. Although his eyes saw Jim and Micki still seated in the Circle, he knew both were no longer in the room.

Chapter Nine

"You think we should check it out?" Detective Henri Brown asked his partner Brian Rafe, as they stared at the apartment whose lights had just winked off and on.

"Everything appears to be fine now, so I don't think we need to blow our cover just yet," Rafe reasoned. "Let's just lay low and wait for those license numbers to come back."

Brown tapped the steering wheel for a few minutes. "You ever wonder about what goes on, you know, with Ellison?"

"You've been around longer than I have, H. The man's been strange as long as I can remember. He's solved cases that should have been unsolvable, using the flimsiest of evidence. Sometimes I wonder if they aren't just using the evidence as a shield."

"Something to hide behind instead of telling the truth?"

Rafe nodded. "Sandburg has a quick mind, and an even quicker tongue. At times, during their debriefings, I think he's making it up as he goes along. Ellison backs him up, then Banks signs off on it."

"Yeah, they're definitely a team. But I think it's Jim who's the main man. I think that's what that reporter was digging for before he OD'd." Brown slumped in the seat a little, getting comfortable. "You think this has anything to do with kids? I still remember when he found those bodies under that old crack house. I had trouble sleeping for days after that. I can still picture him, standing there all military-like, as they pulled out those remains."

"That's when that bastard Dr. Bozeman showed up. Jim was screwed up for days after that man took them to Baltimore," Rafe remembered, as he took a swig of water from one of the bottles in the cooler at his feet. "That was about kids, too. Ten little boys."

"It was fifty little girls in New Orleans."

"Really? The details on that one were sketchy. Never could get much off the internet about that particular case-- just something about the police chief and commissioner being part of some cult."

"That cult raped and killed fifty young girls. Jim recovered their remains, and exposed the cult."

Rafe almost pouted. "How come I hadn't heard any of this?"

"You couldn't make it to Joel's birthday bash, remember? Anyway, he got smashed and I volunteered to drive him home. I was on antibiotics because of that gash I got apprehending Martin Phillips-- the jerk-- so I wasn't knocking back anything stronger than fruit juice that night. Anyway, we got to talking about Jim and Hairboy, and Joel told me what he'd learned from his cousin who lives right outside New Orleans. Let's just say, Jim did some major mojo down there."

"Hmm. Maybe because it was too close for comfort. Did you have any idea he had a daughter?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. He's real closemouthed when it comes to his family. It took a case to discover he had a brother. It took a case to discover he had a father. Seems reasonable that it took a kidnapping to find out he had a daughter," Brown said with a shrug. "The mother owns one of those 'standing room only' restaurants in the French Quarter. Packed every night."

"What I don't get is that if this child is eight, isn't that back when Jim was married to that forensics woman? I never would have figured him for a cheater."

"Say that to Jim, and I'm gonna be scraping you off the ground, man," Brown warned. "Besides, I think you need a lesson in biology, Bri. There's an extra nine months you're forgetting to compute in. That puts Jim's fling in New Orleans _before_ his marriage."

Rafe flushed. "You're absolutely right, H. Sorry, Jim," he muttered to the absent friend he had wronged. "Is this one of the reasons I'm never let in on the gossip?"

Brown patted his shoulder. "That's one of them, my brother. But don't worry. I got your back. If there's something you need to know, I'll tell you."

"Thanks, H. You're a good partner."

"We all are in Major Crime." He looked up at the balcony they had been assigned to watch. "We all are."

*****

"They're gone?" Simon asked Blair, to confirm his own suspicions.

Blair nodded. "There's nothing left to do on this end except wait. You bring a good book?"

"I wish," Simon replied, walking around the energy dome to pick up the stack of folders he'd brought with him. He'd placed them on the table next to the door when he'd entered. "Paperwork, Sandburg. Lots and lots of paperwork."

"How about you, Jack?" Blair asked, turning to the older man. "You good?"

"Do you mind if I use your phone to contact my other colleague, Johnny? I want to see if he's had any luck in tracking down a cursed wallet."

"What does the wallet do?"

"Soak it in the blood of a person you've killed and it fills with one hundred dollar bills."

"Oh."

Jack shrugged. "You get used to it after a while. I have a calling card, so you don't have to worry about me running up charges."

"No problem, man. Knock yourself out. I have a final to study for." He reached for his backpack.

"The semester is about over, isn't it?" Simon questioned. "That mean we'll be seeing more of you at the station? When does the summer session start?"

"In two weeks, but I won't be enrolling."

"Why not?"

"Nothing left to enroll in, Captain. I finished my diss."

"You what!" Simon grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the balcony. "Why didn't you or Jim tell me about this?"

"Because Jim doesn't know. I haven't figured out a way to tell him."

"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't you been working on this dissertation for the past three years? I think the man knows about it. Hell, he _is_ the dissertation."

"No, he's not," Blair said quietly.

Simon took a step back. "What do you mean he's not?"

"I mean my finished dissertation is 'Thick Blue Line: The Insular Society of a Major Crime Unit'."

"But--but what about that fight you guys had about the introduction you had to turn into the committee? You hadn't changed topics yet?"

"It was a smokescreen, Simon. I petitioned for a change of subject after Jim had his run in with the Forty-Two." The forty-two children and teens raped and murdered by Harold Reagan had cried out to the Sentinel for help. They had received it. "There was no way that I could add that into the dissertation. And that was when I realized I could never write about what Jim does-- any of it. It would leave him too vulnerable. I was doubly sure of that after that sleaze Tony Bozeman used Jim."

"Why the ruse? Why didn't you just tell Jim what you'd decided?" Simon asked, confused.

Blair shook his head. "We're talking about Jim here. He'd just found out that he could talk to ghosts, that they run to him for protection. If he felt like a freak because of his senses, you know he was feeling like sideshow fodder after that. Can you imagine how he would've taken it if I had said, 'Hey, man, you've become such an oddity, such a monster that I can't write about you anymore.'? No, that's not the way I would've put it, but it would have been the way he interpreted it. Then, more and more shit started happening: channeling the boy in Baltimore, the whole dream/reality thing with Alicia, that crazy bayou episode-- When was I supposed to tell him? When was I supposed to say, ' You've gone way beyond being a Sentinel, so you're no longer valid to my research.'? He would just assume he was creeping me out."

"Was he? _Is_ he? You have to admit this isn't what you were looking for when you stumbled upon a Sentinel."

"No, it's not, Simon. It's more, much more. But he doesn't creep me out, and he doesn't scare me. Except if you count being scared _for_ him. Do you know how close Edgar Masterson came to exposing him? Do you know the danger that could have put Jim in?"

"The press would have had a field day--" Simon began.

"Forget the press! Masterson was going to label him an alien. The Millennium Group was already hanging around. If they hadn't gotten Jim yet, then the government would have swooped in, and carted him off for 'questioning'. Conspiracy theorists would have flocked to him, claiming that he was proof of everything they have been saying for the past fifty years. Even worse, there would have been plain, ordinary people out there, clamoring for him to find their lost family members, children who had been kidnapped, spouses who had disappeared.... They would have broken his heart, Simon, and the others would have broken his spirit."

"Maybe someone else knew that, Sandburg. Maybe that's why Masterson is dead."

"Yeah, and that's bothering Jim, too. The thought that Masterson was killed to protect him. It goes against everything he is."

"And who is that? He asked you the other night, remember? He asked if we had any idea of what he is. I'll be honest: I don't."

"Maybe we aren't meant to know, Simon. Maybe we are just meant to stand by him, and support him to the best of our abilities."

"Isn't that what we've been doing?"

"Exactly. And what we should continue doing, no matter what metamorphoses he goes through."

"He changes, and we don't?" Simon shook his head. "We change, too, Blair. With your dissertation finished, no matter its subject, you can no longer be an observer. Have you thought about that?"

Blair sighed. "Yeah, I've thought about it. The only thing that matters is that I stay Jim's partner. I'm hoping that with my doctorate, I can use you and Jim as references in getting maybe a part-time gig as a consultant to the department."

"You know I'll do what I can. You have a pretty impressive record with Major Crime. That, combined with favors owed both me and Jim.... We should be able to get something for you."

"Thanks. Because if push comes to shove, I'll go to the police academy if I have to."

Simon stare at him, open-mouthed. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Not exactly the kind of thing I'd be joking about," Blair pointed out. "He needs me. And I-- I need him, Simon. That's hard for me to admit, but it's true. I can't remember the last time I needed anyone. I've always been the independent type. According to Naomi, I wasn't even clingy as a baby. She could drop me in somebody's arms, come back a few hours later, and find out I hadn't fussed in the least bit. I was just never the type to form attachments. Not to people, not to places, not to things. Until I met Jim. I'm attached to him, Simon. I'm attached to him, this loft, and the things in the loft." He spread his arms wide. "This is home. _He_ is home."

"You know, I don't even try to understand you two," Simon muttered.

"But you do anyway, Captain. Let me ask you the same question you asked me: are you creeped out by Jim? Do you think he's a freak?"

"No! He's different. We all have to admit that, but that doesn't make him a freak."

"Does he scare you?" Blair pressed.

"No, not really. I sometimes act annoyed when these things come up, when he pulls some crazy stunt out of his hat-- like taking a trip to Hell-- but it doesn't make my skin crawl." He shook his head. "Let me clarify that-- it doesn't make my skin crawl _anymore_. To be honest, that first day with those ghosts...."

"Yet, you stood beside him until I could get there."

"I wasn't going to leave him alone, Sandburg."

"Why not? If you were scared, why didn't you go find something else to do? Why did you run interference with the Coroner's Office and Homicide? Why didn't you just let them think he was crazy? Don't you know what they're saying about Major Crime? Didn't you notice how no one came to our floor Halloween? Haven't you noticed how the other departments don't complain about Jim anymore? They 'tolerate' him, Simon. Because they're frightened of him."

"Not true," Simon countered. "I might not be an observer, but I do have eyes and ears, Blair. I've noticed the wide berth the others give Jim, and I thought like you-- they were scared of him. But that's not it. They don't want to get in his way, that's all. I think the term 'in awe' describes their reaction much better."

"And Halloween?"

Simon gave an evil grin. "Thanks to a certain police observer, they were wary of what they would find...or be subjected to on the sixth floor."

"Cool," Blair said happily. "I've never been feared before."

"So, I guess you'll be tickled pink when I say you scare me every day."

"You flatterer," Blair teased. Then he stiffened, and whipped his head around toward the interior of the loft.

"Sandburg?" Simon questioned, his hand going toward his pistol butt.

"Jim!" Blair whispered anxiously, racing into the loft.

Chapter Ten

Micki blinked, but still wasn't sure her eyes were open. So, she disengaged her hands from Jim's and drew them to her face.

"Don't poke yourself in the eye," Jim warned. "There's nothing wrong with your sight. It's just dark." Well, dark didn't really describe their surroundings. _Dark_ was something you experienced far up in the mountains at night, or in a deep cave. This was more like being buried alive-- something he had yet to experience, but considering the life he led.... But he could imagine what it felt like. How the darkness would surely close in, like the satin walls of a coffin...how it would feel thick and heavy like leaking ink oozing out to grab hold of you in its sticky embrace.... _Shit, Ellison. Scare yourself silly, why don't you?_

"If it's so dark, how come you could tell my hands were going for my eyes?" Micki asked warily.

"I have incredible night vision," he told her, not mentioning that as soon as he had encountered the darkness, he had quickly changed "channels" on his sight until he could see. The view was similar to what ordinary people would see through a nightscope or goggles-- an odd, nearly fluorescent green-- but he wasn't complaining. Without the enhancements bequeathed to him by Alicia, he wouldn't be able to see at all.

"Where are we?"

He shrugged. "Probably somewhere on the outskirts of Hell." He stood, reaching out a hand to help her up. "The sky seems lighter toward the west. We'll go in that direction, okay?"

She nodded and gripped his arm. "I really can't see a thing."

He heard her racing heartbeat, and smelled the perspiration being secreted by her body. "Don't be afraid. Just stay close."

They walked a few yards, Jim directing her around several trees and dips in the terrain. He thought that as they continued without incident, she would relax. Instead, she grew tenser. Her heart pounded in _his_ head, and the smell of her fear got stronger. What was happening? "Micki, what is it?" he asked worriedly.

"You don't hear it?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Hear what?" With his free hand, he "channel-chased" but found nothing.

"Guess it's just my imagination," Micki murmured, her nails digging into his arm.

"Once you're able to see, it'll be better," he consoled, as they continued on their journey.

Ten minutes later, she stopped, a soft, "No," escaping her lips.

"No what?" he prompted.

"No, no, no," she mumbled. "I can't. I won't. You can't make me!" The last words were strong and loud.

"Micki?" He grabbed her forearms, pulling her in front of him.

She jerked away, stumbling on the uneven ground. He reached out to steady her, and she flinched from his touch. "Stay away from me!" she screamed, not at Jim, but the sky. "I will _not_ have your child! Never!" Panting, she turned in a circle. "Ryan! Jack! Help me! Please, I need you!"

"What are you seeing, Micki? What are you hearing?" Jim tried again, edging toward her. "Talk to me, please," he urged.

"Somebody help me!" she cried, backing away from the enemy she couldn't see, but obviously felt. "I won't bear Satan's child. I won't. I won't. I won't!" She turned and started running.

Afraid she would hurt herself in the dark, Jim charged after her, tackling her just as she nearly ran headlong into a tree. He twisted as they fell, hitting the ground first, then rolling to pin her. She struggled fiercely, and he used more of his strength than he wanted to, just to keep her from damaging herself, and him. When her flailing was successfully under control, he surveyed the face beneath his, and his heart sank at the wild fear in her eyes. He watched them track movement and react to light that wasn't there. Apparently Micki was trapped in a nightmare from her past, and he had no idea how to bring her back.

"Micki, it's Jim. Remember me? Remember coming to Cascade for my help? You needed me to find Ryan for you. Do you remember, Micki?"

"Ryan?" Micki whimpered. "Help me, Ryan. Oh, God, help me. Where are you, Ryan? He's going to take me, Ryan." Tears ran down her face.

"Shh. It's all right," Jim crooned, his hands stroking the arms he held captive. "We're going to go where Satan can't get to you, okay? But you have to concentrate, Micki. I need you to remember the loft. Remember the Circle you cast, the candles you lit with your magick. Remember Jack."

"Jack? Jack, where are you? I need you, Jack. Ryan? Ryan!" she yelled again.

Jim dropped his head. This wasn't working. And if he couldn't get Micki to focus, they weren't going to get out of here. He loosened his grip on her, and moved his hand toward her face. He stopped midway, belatedly aware of what he was about to instinctively do. No! There had to be another way. "Micki, please listen to me. You need to remember where you are, why we're here. I know you can do it," he pleaded.

"Ryan," she wept softly. "I don't want to have his baby. I don't want _that_ growing inside me. Help me...please help me."

Jim sighed, knowing he was out of options. He let his hand continue to her temple. "Open to me, Micki," he ordered, his voice dropping to a seductive, compelling timbre. "Let me into your fear. Let me into your thoughts." The life and times of Michelle Foster poured into his head, the memories of the child, the teen, the woman. He sifted through the myriad of thoughts until he found the one that held her in such stupefying terror.

"Micki, he's not here," he said softly, his fingers stroking her temple. "You escaped, remember? You, Jack, and Ryan all escaped the Devil's trap. He held you in a snow globe. You and Ryan thought it was an old inn. Jack thought it was a monastery. He had one of his minions lure you there. But he didn't rape you, sweetheart. The three of you escaped, and the globe was destroyed. Remember, Micki?"

"He...he didn't touch me?" Her voice clogged with tears.

"No, sweetheart. You were rescued."

"By Jack...and Ryan?"

"Yes. Do you remember now?"

She blinked. "Jim?"

He gave a sigh of relief and released her. "Yeah, it's me, Micki. We need to go back now, okay? Back to the loft. Where the Circle is. Where Jack is. Do you understand?"

She sat up, and nodded slowly. "Your apartment. Where the dome protects us."

He smiled at her encouragingly, even though he knew she couldn't see his face. "That's right. Give me your hands. Now, focus on the light, Micki. See the candles. See the dome. See Jack." He closed his eyes and saw the images form in her head. "That's good, sweetheart. Now, let's go home."

*****

"Johnny, I'll have to call you back," Jack said quickly, as Blair and Simon came barreling into the loft. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're back," Blair said firmly, and even as Jack turned, he could see movement inside the energy dome. He watched Jim stand, pull Micki to her feet, then scoop her collapsing body into his arms. By the time he remembered how to move, Jim was placing her on one of the sofas.

"Micki?" Jack called uneasily.

Fierce blue eyes turned toward him, silencing him instantly. Then Jim shook an afghan over Micki and stroked her hair for a minute or so, Convinced she was sleeping soundly, he turned and faced his audience. "Outside," he said tersely.

Jack wasn't certain what was going on, but Blair and Simon recognized a furious Jim when they saw one. On the balcony, he paced angrily until Blair stopped him with a touch to his arm. "What went wrong?" the grad student asked simply, since it was obvious something had.

"Seems nobody bothered to tell me that during one of their little outings, Micki had nearly been raped by Satan himself," Jim spat out, staring directly at Jack.

The older man paled. "Oh, shit," he whispered nearly to himself.

"'Oh, shit' is right. The memory grabbed Micki and wouldn't let her go. And there I was, more in the dark than I actually was-- and let me tell you, that was some dark." He folded his arms and stared at the lights of his city. "She couldn't get away from it. She heard him, felt him, she was stuck back in that moment, and I couldn't get her free, couldn't get her to a safe place, a place where we could come back here."

"But you managed it somehow," Blair pointed out soothingly. "You're both here now."

Jim gave a bitter chuckle. "Sure, we are, Chief. Wanna know how I did it? Wanna know what I was forced to do? The other night, I glimpsed her thoughts. Tonight, I read them. Just ordered her to open up and let me in." He smiled wryly as three sets of eyes grew wide. "Yep. There she was, worried about Satan raping her body, and I just come along and rape her mind."

Blair shook his head. "Jim, man, you just did what you had to do," he said, certain of that fact.

"I couldn't get through to her. I tried. I really did. But I couldn't get to the problem from the outside. I had to go inside, find the memory, then complete it for her." His eyes flicked toward the sofa. "I'm not sure how much of anything she remembers. Maybe if I had known what she was seeing, if I had known this was a potential problem...."

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I didn't think-- It's not something Micki talks about. I was there, but--"

"I know," Jim said softly. "I know you were there. I know Ryan was there. I know everything Micki knows."

Jack gaped at him. Then he closed his mouth. "I agree with Blair. You just did what you had to do, thanks to my idiocy. Satan has toyed with us many times through the years. You should have been warned about our weak spots."

"Yes, I should have been." He cocked his head to one side. "She's bordering on a nightmare. Go wake her, Jack. Then take her back to the hotel, and stay with her."

Jack humbly stepped inside. Jim sighed and ran a hand across his face. "This was a fucking disaster."

"Not because of anything you did, Jim," Simon said firmly. "So, has the game been called because of rain, or just delayed?"

"I don't know," Jim said wearily.

"Let's regroup overnight," Blair suggested. "I don't think anyone is in any condition to do much at the moment."

"Sounds like a winning plan to me," Simon agreed. "Hadn't planned on sleeping in my bed tonight. Not going to give up that treat. Want me to see your guests out on my way?" He looked through the glass as Jack sat on the sofa with Micki.

"Yes. Tell them don't worry about anything. The candles, whatever.... We'll go through all that tomorrow," Jim said gratefully. He didn't want to face Micki tonight. In the morning, when she was clear-minded, then he would own up to what he had done. "And tell the others the night's a bust, too."

"The others?"

"Brown and Rafe are running a stake-out down the street."

"Those guys," Blair said, touched by their loyalty.

"The way they bitch when I assign them--" Simon muttered. "Okay, Jim. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of it. Try to get some sleep. You, too, Sandburg."

"We'll be fine, Simon. See you in the morning."

Ignoring the conversation inside the loft, Jim walked over to the edge of the balcony, and stared off into the night, the glaring lights and varied sounds soothing him as the darkness and silence of the woods outside Hell had not.

"What bothers you more?" Blair asked quietly. "That you had to read her mind, or that you could?"

Jim closed his eyes, not surprised his partner hit the nail on the head on his very first try. "I don't know, Chief. Just when I start to think I have everything under control...."

"Was this something 'out of control'?"

"No. I knew what I was doing."

"And you knew _why_ you were doing it." Blair came to stand beside his partner. "Don't beat yourself up over something you couldn't predict-- well, maybe you could have predicted it if you had been provided with sufficient background material. But you weren't. Not your fault. And it's not Micki's, nor Jack's fault for not wanting to recall what went on before. We've both been there and done that, Jim."

"I know."

"So, what happens now? You go back, taking Jack instead?"

"No! I don't even want to think about the risks involved in that!" He was not going to crawl into anyone's head again. At least not until he got over the willies from his first time. "I needed Micki because of her memories of Ryan.... I now possess those myself."

"Well, you are _not_ going by yourself!" Blair huffed.

"That isn't what I was considering, Chief." He stared at his partner meaningfully.

"Oh," Blair said softly. "Sounds doable."

"You got any old run-ins with Satan that I should know about?"

"Well, I've been harassed by a certain tall, blue-eyed, neatness demon for several years now, but I've learned he's completely harmless," Blair said cheekily.

"Oh, really?"

Blair nodded. "He's mean on the outside, but a softie when it comes to pitiful grad students and police observers."

"Poor demon. To have his power stripped away like that."

Blair snorted. "Revealing his mushy inside just made him more powerful. At least to pitiful grad students and police observers." He grinned and stretched. "I better go to bed. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I get to go to Hell. Should I check my camera for film, man?"

Jim smiled and shook his head. Leave it to his partner to make it sound like they were going to Disney World. "No flash photography past the loft, I'm afraid."

"Bummer." Blair pouted. "Guess I'll just have to keep a detailed diary. A thousand words per picture is currently the going rate, right?"

"That's what I've heard."

"Cool. I haven't spent all those hours taking notes in class for nothing. See you in the morning, Jim."

"'Night, Chief."

Blair walked over to the glass doors, then turned. "And don't stay out here all night. You get cranky when you don't get enough sleep. I hate traveling with cranky people."

"Blair?"

He stiffened, hearing his real name come from his partner's mouth. "Yeah, Jim?"

"Thank you."

Blair felt a warmth spread from his heart throughout his entire body. "You're welcome."

Chapter Eleven

Simon juggled a bakery box as he locked his car in the parking lot across from the loft. Frowning as he saw a familiar car, he stomped down the block.

"Do _not_ tell me you've been here all night," he warned his two men.

"No, sir," Rafe said quickly. "We just got here about ten minutes ago."

"And you're here, on your day off, because--"

"Same reason we were here last night, Captain. We got a tip that Little Mo had been seen in the area," Brown piped in, knowing he could lie much better than his partner.

"And you're so worried about your snitch that you'd spend your down time--"

"We look out for _our_ people, sir," Rafe said meaningfully. "By the way, there were two out of place cars here last night. One was an Illinois license--"

"It's supposed to be here. You stay here long enough, you might see it again today. Don't worry about it."

"Yes, sir. And then there's a Washington license that doesn't belong to anyone in the neighborhood."

Simon sighed. "People can have visitors and overnight guests, gentlemen."

"But the tag came back as being registered to an organization-- something called the Millennium Group," Brown said.

Only the box in his hands kept Simon from pounding the top of the car. "Shit! We don't need those bastards poking around. They've already been warned-- If, while you're looking for Little Mo, you run across these guys again, let me know."

"We will."

"Here, take a donut." He let them plough through the box as he debated how to tell Jim about this new development. The phone would be nice and safe, but since the loft was a few buildings away, that seemed rather cowardly. Okay, so he would tell him face to face, making sure Sandburg was in between them. Not that Jim was in the habit of attacking the messenger of bad tidings-- but there was always a first time. 

*****

"Morning, Simon," Jim said, as he opened the door for the approaching captain. He took an appreciative sniff. "Eau de bakery. My favorite cologne."

Simon grinned. "I eat here so often, I figured I could spring for breakfast. Where's your partner?"

"Taking a bath."

"Why a bath?" Baths usually indicated sore muscles or a tired spirit.

"It's not a normal bath. It's a Ritual Bath-- to cleanse him, from inside and out, of negative energies, and to prepare his physical, mental, and spiritual self."

Suspicion crawled along his spine to settle at the base of his brain. "Why does he need this preparation?"

"Because he's going with me to Hell."

Simon set the box down on the counter. "I wish I could say that this was a surprise, but it isn't. You taking Jack, too?"

Jim shook his head. "I have Micki's memories. That will be enough to guide me to Dallion."

"They know?"

"Not yet. We'll discuss it when they get here."

"But the discussion is already over, isn't it?" Simon asked shrewdly.

"I won't be blind-sided again, Simon. Blair is a known quantity. I'm already intimate with his demons. Thus, I'll be able to focus on the mission, not my companion."

The captain threw up his hands submissively. "Hey, you're preaching to the choir, Jim. I don't like the fact that you're going to Hell, but I feel better about it knowing the two of you are together. So, I just have to sit back and do my Watcher routine, right?"

"Right," Jim said, around the donut he was stuffing into his mouth. "As soon as you make your candles."

"Candles?"

Jim nodded. "For protection and power."

"But we're gonna do one of those domes again, right? Isn't that enough protection?"

"We're talking Blair, sir. 'Enough protection' does not apply to him."

"You guys talking about me?" Blair asked, as he stepped out of the bathroom and joined them.

"I'm trying to convince him to give candle-making a try, Chief," Jim explained, handing Blair a glass of wine.

"Oh, man, we need your candles, Simon. Have you started the wax yet, Jim?"

"I was just getting ready to hand him the spoon."

"Good. Okay, Simon. While you stir I want you to...."

It was as the candles were cooling that the captain remembered the news he had to impart. "The Millennium Group was watching the loft last night."

Silence.

Blair looked at his partner. "You going to call Whitney again?" The FBI assistant director had gotten rid of them the last time.

Jim shook his head. "As long as they don't interfere, they can sit and gawk all they want."

"You're sure, Jim?" Simon asked bewilderedly. It wasn't like his detective to be so calm and easy.

"Accentuate the positive. Eliminate the negative," he murmured, as he walked away toward the stairs and his room.

"Translation?" Simon demanded of Blair.

"He's in mission mode. No time to waste on emotional reactions. As long as the Millennium Group is not a threat to his primary goal, they don't rate a second thought."

"I can guarantee they won't mess with his primary goal."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. Now, let's dress those candles."

The candles and the dome were in place by the time Jim cocked his head and said, "Micki and Jack are here." He walked over to the door and opened it. "Good morning."

"Good morning. We're sorry we're late. I overslept," Micki explained.

"Understandable," Jim said, knowing what kind of night she must have had, dreams probably waking her every time she fell asleep.

She looked at him, then her eyes dropped. "About last night--" she began.

"Let's go out on the balcony," he interrupted. "Excuse us for a minute." He gently guided Micki outside. "About last night...I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "What do you have to be sorry about? I'm the one who lost it. I honestly didn't consider it to be a problem, Jim. I thought.... I can get past it now that I know about it. If we could try again--"

"No."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. I understand that you're wary of dealing with me again, but Jack is just as capable--"

"No."

Micki felt her knees give away, and she sank onto one of the deck chairs. "Please don't penalize Ryan because of my weakness. I couldn't bear that."

He knelt beside the chair. "I'm still going after Ryan. I just can't risk taking you or Jack with me. Blair will be my companion."

"But he can't help you locate Ryan. You need--" She stopped when Jim laid his hand on hers.

"What do you remember about last night?" he asked her gently.

"I-- Somehow I was made to believe I was back in the snow globe, and that Satan was getting ready to rape me." She refused to let her voice tremble when she said it.

"Do you remember how I got you to see the truth?"

"You reminded me of how it really ended."

His thumb brushed the soft flesh beneath it. "Don't you wonder how I knew how it ended?"

A furrow creased her brow. Then her eyes widened with knowledge and fright. "You read my mind?"

"Yes. I made you open your thoughts to me. I'm sorry for the violation, Micki. If I could have thought of another way...."

"You...know...everything?"

He nodded. "Lloyd was a fool."

"Oh, damn," she murmured, turning bright red. "So many mistakes in my past...."

"It's okay," he hastened to reassure her. "Your thoughts are safe with me. I won't ever divulge them. I won't even consciously remember them, except for the ones about Ryan. I'll need those, Micki, to find him."

She jerked her head in a parody of a nod. "I'm sorry. This is just strange...and unsettling." It was bad enough what she'd done and thought before working with the cursed objects. But the things that had occurred because of those objects: she had fallen for a vampire, had the humanity sucked out of her by a cursed syringe-- leaving her in an animalistic, violent state where she tried to claw out the eyes of her rescuers, and rip their throats out with her teeth-- stabbed Jack, stabbed and killed an owner of a cursed object, had that damned coin kill and reanimate her.... Poor Jim. These weren't memories fit for sharing.

"We all have pasts, and regrets, and incidents we have no control over. We also have secrets that were never meant to be told. I'm sorry I know yours, Micki. What I did was just about as bad as what Satan wanted--"

"No. There was no malice in what you did, no power play.... What you did got us out of there. I ought to be grateful, not worried about what you picked up from my thoughts-- And I _am_ grateful," she said, sitting straighter in the chair. "You did what you had to, what I made you do. I can't fault you for that. So, are you and Blair going to try tonight?"

"We don't have to wait until the moon rises. We were just waiting until you got here."

"Why? You don't need us." _Sorry, I failed you, Ryan._

"Yes, we do. We need your positive energy, and your love for Ryan, to strengthen us. This is still a joint venture; we're just changing the travel arrangements." 

They both stood, and went back into the loft.

"Everything cool?" Blair asked anxiously.

"Yes," Micki answered. "I hope you're a better traveling companion than I was, Blair."

"Hey, it's just going to be a hoot going somewhere with Jim, and not having to ride in his _beautiful_ truck," Blair teased. He actually liked the truck; he just happened to like pushing Jim's buttons better.

"You might want to leave talking about my truck until you're successfully back from Hell, Chief," Jim warned, with a cheery grin.

"You know I love that truck, Jim. Why, nothing else you've owned has survived like that old truck. Indestructible is the word I would use. Sorta like a cockroach. Just can't get rid of it."

"Sandburg, don't let your mouth write a check that Satan's going to cash," came the voice of experience.

Blair bowed in Simon's direction. "Thank you, Captain. I will take your words of wisdom to Hell with me," he said cheekily.

"Ellison, can we get on with this?" Simon asked eagerly.

"Come on, Chief. The day's not getting any longer-- and yes, I do know it _is_ actually getting longer and will continue to do so until the summer solstice, but for brevity's sake, and the fact that you know what I mean, we are not going to have that discussion. Understood?"

Blair saluted, one particular finger separating from the others. "Aye, aye, Captain Ellison, sir!"

Jim looked at Simon, and his friend just shook his head. "No, Jim. You can't send him to Hell and leave him there."

"Well, then, I guess we might as well get this over with." He entered the dome, and took a seat in the middle. Although the candles still marked the boundaries, there was no center altar.

"Light the candles, man."

Jim glared at his roommate. "Do I look like a match?"

"I need an ostentatious display of your power to reassure me that what we are attempting to accomplish is feasible," Blair said, tongue-in-cheek. He really just wanted to see if Jim could do it.

Jim blinked and the twelve candles flared. "Now, are we ready to go, Chief?"

Effectively silenced, Blair nodded and held out his hands.

Their spirits left the room.

Chapter Twelve

The first thing Blair was aware of was that Jim was beside him. That essential factor confirmed, he took time to examine his surroundings-- which didn't take long considering he couldn't even see his own hands in front of his face. "It's a good thing you're so warm-blooded, Jim, or I wouldn't be able to sense you at all."

"Unless I talked," Jim replied.

"You talk? Yeah, I guess the occasional, "Move your ass, Sandburg," would have alerted me to your presence," Blair laughed. "Thought I was going to feel like Dorothy, man, but instead there's more of a Gretel thing happening, or Little Red Riding Hood," he commented casually.

"Since you seem to be identifying with all female characters, is there something you're trying to tell me, Chief?" Jim teased, as his senses automatically adjusted to the now familiar conditions. Secretly, he was pleased that Blair was accepting the dark so well.

"Yeah, man. I'm trying to tell you I'm scared shitless. You can see, right?"

"Right."

"Colors, or black and white?"

"Phosphorus green."

"That must be weird. So, where are we?"

"'Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

What was this forest savage, rough and stern,

Which in the very thought renews the fear.'"

Blair smiled at the familiar words. "Dante was right, huh?" he asked excitedly. "So, does that mean he actually visited Hell before writing the Divine Comedy? Cool. I wonder which of the necromantic arts he practiced? Of course, the supernatural elements of text, occulted by the necessary religious references, should have clued me in, but when I was reading it, I had no idea that such a journey was possible, much less that I would go on a similar one. But now that I've been made aware-- rather personally aware, I might add-- that certain supernatural occurrences are fact and not mere legend--"

Jim relegated Blair's words to the background as they started forward. His partner easily followed him, as if he'd been blind all his life and was used to trusting someone else to guide his steps. A hand lightly rested on his arm, no fear in the grip, no uncertainty in movement. Complete faith. Scary.

"Feels like we're moving downhill."

"We are, Chief. It's a bit lighter, too. Can you see anything yet?"

"Dark shapes, which I assume are trees. This is a lot like normal camping now. Except we don't have a mass murderer or bank robber on our trail," he added with a grin. Then he sucked in a corner of his lip. "We don't, do we?"

"Not so far. But we are talking about Hell."

"By the way, nice quote job you did there, Jim. Have you memorized all the classics or what?"

"English extra credit project."

"And why did you need extra credit?" Blair asked, always eager to find out things about Jim's past.

"The basketball team went to the championship that year. I missed class a lot."

"What did you do with the game ball?"

"It's probably in a box in the base--" He stopped so suddenly, that Blair stumbled into the back of him. "How did you know we won, and I was given the game ball?"

"Because you have a competitive streak a mile-wide. If you played, you gave over one hundred percent, which meant since you won, you were the MVP and received the game ball."

Jim shook his head, trying to follow Blair's logic. "So, how did you know we won?" he asked again.

"You did extra credit. That meant you were proving something to someone. You wanted to win the championship and make all A's. So, you took care of the championship, then did the extra work for the A. Who was it, Jim? Who made you feel guilty for playing basketball, instead of being in class?"

"My brother. He told my dad that since there was already a dumb jock in the family, he guessed it was up to him to be the brain." Jim sighed. "I know he was just kidding, but it rubbed me the wrong way."

"That's because you used to be such an easy mark. When I first moved into the loft, you took everything so seriously. Thankfully, I've been a calming influence on you."

"Yeah, I learned the futility of beating my head against a brick wall-- the hard way. Thanks for the guidance."

"You're welcome. I'm not called your guide for nothing, you know."

Tired of talking about himself, Jim moved to change the topic. "So, you really think ol' Dante wandered these same woods?"

"It's possible. It's equally possible that since we both read the story, that this is merely a shared figment, a collective representation of what we know, or what we think we know, about Hell. If we hadn't read Dante, we would probably be facing horned beasts with pitchforks."

"Hot Stuff."

"Beg your pardon?" Blair asked curiously.

"He was this comic book devil. He was red and had horns, and a tail, I think. He was always getting into trouble, which was perfectly suitable for him. I think he was a lot like Casper and Wendy. They were all supposed to be evil, but ended up being good, and were therefore shunned by their family and peers."

"So, did you identify with these characters?"

"I think everyone did, to some extent. We've all been in a situation where being different is the right thing, but the wrong thing at the same time," Jim philosophized.

"It's true the kids today could use such books. It might convince them to stay out of gangs."

Jim shook his head. "Either those comics don't exist anymore, or the character has been 'changed for the better.' I guess a devil, a witch, and a ghost, just aren't P.C. in this day and age. I can just imagine what they would think of Little Lotta."

"Little Lotta?"

"She was a lotta little girl, if you get my drift. I might have to agree with them on getting rid of that one, but Lotta didn't have a problem with her size, so in a way I guess she was a positive role model."

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Jim, but I am stunned at the insight you are showing."

"Because I know comic books? They only cost like fifteen cents back in those days."

Blair continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I mean, I knew you had depths that you rarely showed, but for you to be so verbal about it.... This is amazing. Is it because we're no longer in the world where you think you have to put up this veneer of 'I'm just a dumb cop?' Or has the veneer been stripped away in order to prepare you for battle with a master of wit? Do you feel more confident being your true self because it's just me and you, or--"

"Chief."

Blair quieted immediately. He knew the "Chief" was Jimspeak for "quiet", just as he knew Jim wasn't silencing him for the sake of silence-- the Sentinel was way too used to his constant chatter by now, especially in times of stress. So, that meant Jim wanted him quiet for another reason. Probably a darn good one.

"Something's coming."

_Something?_ Blair sent his mind scrambling back to his undergrad lit course. After Dante found himself in a dark wood, what? Oh yeah. He was confronted by-- "Jim, Dante's path was blocked by vicious animals!" he whispered hastily. "We need some kind of weapon--" The words stopped abruptly, as three pairs of red eyes burned in the wall of darkness before him.

Jim's hand closed around his arm.

*****

"I'm sorry, Jack," Micki said as she watched the candles dance in the confines of the energy dome. "If we don't get Ryan back, it will be my fault."

He squeezed her hand affectionately. "Sometimes fear gets the best of all of us, Micki. What Satan tried to do to you was very traumatic--"

"And knowing Ryan is suffering at _his_ hands is traumatic as well, Jack. I should have been strong enough to do this. I should have been strong enough for Ryan! He was always strong for me. How many times did he rescue me? How many times did he almost die coming to my aid? Now, when I have a chance to repay him, I fail."

"For every time Ryan saved you, there was a time you saved him," Jack protested. "Remember the Witches' Ladder, Micki? That witch had him under her spell, and you broke it. You didn't even know you had the power, but you tried anyway."

"Then, why couldn't I find that power last night? Why couldn't I summon the guts to rid myself of Satan's hold?"

"Actually, what happened last night, was probably for the best," Simon said quietly, as he stared at his friends, still clasping hands. He relaxed each time he saw their chests move. Maybe no one was home, but as long as the bodies still functioned, he knew they would return.

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"I'm not questioning your love for your cousin, or the power of your magic, but if anyone has a chance of succeeding in going to Hell and bringing someone back, it's the two of them-- together." 

"It's obvious the two share a bond," Jack said. "I could never really get a handle on Jim's power, but I could feel Blair's increase whenever he was close to Jim. If he wasn't a Shaman, he would be a very powerful Wiccan."

Blair-- a witch? Simon shivered at the prospect. "His cup is already full, Mr. Marshack. He doesn't need more titles."

"Speaking of titles, what is Jim?"

Simon shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"I think he's a saint," Micki murmured.

Simon laughed. "Oh, yeah. That'll go over big down at the station."

"I'm serious, Captain," Micki said firmly. "This has nothing to do with the way he handled my breakdown. I'm talking about a fully realized saint."

"I think Micki might be on the right track," Jack said, giving the proposal some thought. "Saints are not the sole property of Catholics, you know. They appear in several religions. They are the persons who bridge the gap between the divine and the mundane. They are wholly human, but have in their possession divine power. They use that precious gift to change the lives of others, and to give tangible evidence that the divine actually exists. Access to this power is given to them because of their devotion to a higher authority, and by using the power wisely, they themselves attract devotees and converts. These are the real saints, Captain."

Simon digested the information slowly, taking each piece and matching it to the situation. Jim was wholly human. That was a given, considering the amount of blood he'd seen pouring from the man over the years. And he did possess divine power. With his own eyes, he had watched Jim raise the bones in the bayou, and he had seen the marks of Archangel Michael on his arms. Jim had been given many talents-- from Michael, Alicia Delacroix, and from his own gene pool-- and he used them only to help others. He not only changed lives, but he saved them. Of course, Jim was devoted to Michael, his general, but his devotion went beyond Michael. Had he not defied his commander as he dealt with Lilith, actually redeeming a little of the demon queen's lost soul?

And as far as devotees and converts were concerned, Daryl and that little coven he'd been a part of, totally believed in the Sentry, and the power of good. Also, he couldn't forget himself. Years on the job, years of just watching the world go by, had blunted his faith, dulled his belief. Watching Jim, being an active participant in what he did, had restored what the world had taken away. He believed; the specifics weren't clear, but that didn't change the fact that his faith was stronger than ever. So, was the lady right? Was Jim a saint? That just seemed so-- overtly religious, didn't it? Jim would pitch a fit if he knew the term was being batted around. And Sandburg, Sandburg probably already knew about the non-Catholic/Christian meaning of the word 'saint' and had wisely kept his mouth shut. Which was what he was going to do.

"Jim calls himself a Warrior-- as in fighting for good in the battle of good vs. evil. I think I'll just stick with that term," Simon said diplomatically.

"Warrior he is, then," Jack said agreeably. "I take it this is not his first skirmish?"

"Oh, no. And I assure you, Jim always fights a good fight, and with Sandburg at his side-- well, they are a formidable team. Your friend couldn't be in better hands. His soul will be returned, and if possible, his body," Simon said, with all his newly-strengthened belief intact.

"I hope you're right, Captain," Micki murmured.

Simon picked up one of the files he'd brought. "I know I'm right, Ms. Foster."

Chapter Thirteen

The hand on Blair's arm tightened, holding him back from his initial urge to bolt. "It's okay, Chief. They're friends," Jim said calmly.

The sky brightened as they came from beyond the trees-- Jaguar, Wolf...and Cougar. Blair smiled. "I should have known Simon was Cougar, Jim. Cougar is known for his leadership ability. He rules with wisdom and without ego. Did you know Cougar was chosen as the messenger between humans and the spirits because of its personal power, superior knowledge, strength of will, and steadfastness?"

"No, but I know he has the ability to lead without insisting that others follow, and that he is constantly keeping the peace. He is often put in the position of being blamed when things go wrong because he takes charge when others can't," Jim added, shocking his partner yet again.

"Wow. I didn't know you had studied animal totems, Jim."

"After a couple of run-ins with Mr. Black over there," he pointed to the jaguar who paced the edge of the woods, constantly on alert, "I thought I should know who I was dealing with. When I read the part about the cougar, I knew it was Simon."

"And what did you think about Wolfie?" Blair asked curiously.

"That there could be no other guiding spirit for you. He teaches, protects, and guides. You in a nutshell, Chief."

"Thanks, Jim. But don't you think it's strange that I'm the only canine in the bunch-- and if you say something about table legs, I'm going to hurt you, man," Blair warned.

"I don't think it's strange at all. We're not just cats-- we're big cats. You're here to teach us that size does not equal strength, that different can be good, that dogs have a say, too. We are constantly learning from you, Chief. No, it's not strange at all. Wolf teaches where he is most needed."

Blair looked around. "I wonder how I can package some of this air and take it back with us. It's doing wonders for your disposition."

Jaguar screamed indignantly, and his companions joined him. The three headed off together, looking back occasionally to make sure the humans were following.

"So, he's the one who taught you how to shut everyone up, huh?" Blair whispered, as they obediently trailed the animals.

"Never said Wolfie was my only teacher," Jim replied with a smirk.

"Did Micki meet them?"

"We didn't get this far, Chief. We didn't get far at all."

"You're still feeling bad about what you had to do, aren't you?" Blair asked shrewdly, hearing the heavy load Jim bore.

"I raped her mind. Shouldn't I feel bad?"

"Would you've rather stayed here forever?"

"I've heard the 'it was for her own good' speech from rapists I've busted-- usually husbands. Should I say it was 'my right', too?"

"Maybe it _was_ 'your right'. You were given the ability for a reason."

"To protect."

"Which is what you used it for," Blair pointed out triumphantly. "Micki was lost, and you used your skill to find her and bring her safely home. Does she hold a grudge against you for doing that?"

"No."

"Then why are you beating yourself up over it? Are you planning to write a tell-all book about the life and times of Michelle Foster?"

"No!"

"Are you planning on blackmailing her with what you know?"

"No," Jim replied softly. "I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

"Big time."

"I'm trying, you know? Trying to come to terms with the new me...without losing the old me. He wasn't that bad, was he?"

Blair looked at him and smiled. "I've never met a Jim Ellison I didn't like. Even Soldier Ellison has his strengths-- mindless drone though he might be."

"You better stop before my head explodes from all the praise," Jim said dryly.

"What I'm trying to get at, man, is that every Jim Ellison that has ever existed, still exists. You're all in there, surfacing when necessary, doing what needs to be done."

"Sounds like a bad case of Multiple Personality Disorder."

"In a way, it is. It's called Multiple Personality _Dis_ -order for a reason-- because it's not the multiple personalities that are the problem; it's the way they are working that causes the trouble. They work as independent creations, rather than more normal separate faces of one entity."

Jim looked at him, thought about what he said, then smiled. "Sounds like bullshit, Chief. But, thankfully, I think that's exactly what I'm in the market for today."

"I always aim to please," Blair snorted, and followed his partner contentedly.

As they descended the mountain, the sun rose-- well, not really the sun, but a pale imitation that provided little light. Blair could see, but it was as if through a haze that paled out colors, and blurred edges. "I don't like this place," he muttered.

"It's Hell, Chief. I think that's the point of its existence."

Blair grinned. "The sarcasm is a nice touch. Not that it's new, but it's deftly handled, and delivered with just a hint of bored amusement. Not everyone can pull that off."

"Are you saying I'm a bore?" Jim asked, allowing the smallest amount of hurt to be heard in his words.

"Nah, man, not at all," Blair hastened to say, reaching over to bop the back of Jim's head when he saw the grin on his companion's face. "Have I called you a jerk today?"

Jim shook his head. "I figured it was still early."

"Well, consider it late enough," Blair replied. "Besides, this isn't Hell; it's Pre-Hell," he corrected. "That looks like Hell ahead of us." He peered closely at the tall arch looming in front of them. The spirit guides had stopped near its base, patiently waiting on the lagging humans. "There's writing on it. What does it say?"

Jim adjusted his eyesight and read:

"'Through me the way is to the city dolent;

Through me the way is to eternal dole;

Through me the way among the people lost.

Justice incited my sublime Creator;

Created me divine Omnipotence,

The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.

Before me there were no created things,

Only eterne, and I eternal last.

All hope abandon, ye who enter in!'"

Blair shivered. "Well, that was warm and cozy, wasn't it? So, we go under the arch, and we end up in the City of Eternal Sadness," he translated, "where those who have lost their way exist in the place created out of wisdom, love, and your favorite-- free will."

"If there was no Hell, then how would Heaven be a choice?" Jim questioned sagely. "We're only here because free will wasn't exercised in this case."

"I know, but.... Doesn't the warning at the end bother you at all? 'Abandon hope if you enter.' I feel the welcome, don't you?"

Jim shrugged. "Then don't abandon it. I believe we shall walk under that arch again-- on our way out with Ryan Dallion."

"Accentuating the positive again, Jim? Damn. Am I that annoying when I keep harping on something?"

"In a word, yes," Jim replied, stepping boldly beneath the arch.

And crumpled to his knees.

*****

Micki tried to let the captain get on with his work, but curiosity was eating her up, and the answers he gave distracted her from the fact that she should be looking for Ryan, not sitting around a loft, doing nothing. "So, Captain, how does a detective, a captain, and a grad student get involved in the supernatural?"

"Gradually, as in _dragged by our heels_ ," Simon replied with a grimace. "Actually, Jim was 'called', and Blair and I, loyal creatures that we are, were talked into following along."

"Must have been a pretty persuasive speech Jim gave," Jack said, remembering how he had explained to Micki and Ryan about the cursed objects, and how important it was to retrieve them.

"Jim said, 'I need you'-- and I here I sit."

"And it hasn't interfered with your job?"

"So far, no. But we haven't been at it long. Jim's calling was recent, and most of the incidents involved cases he already had, or could be assigned to him."

"In a way it makes sense, Micki, that Jim's a cop. Think of the situations that could have been eased if we'd had a badge," Jack pointed out, remembering the numerous arrests. "As cops, you work closely with other people. Are your co-workers aware of what you do?"

Simon shrugged. "What they know, they keep to themselves. But they _are_ detectives, so I assume they know something is going on out of the ordinary." He thought back to his conversation with Joel, and the presence of the two detectives parked outside. He wondered how accurate their guesses were. Before he could get too deep into the speculation, his cell phone shrilled.

"Excuse me," he said as he stood and walked out onto the balcony. "Banks.... Hey, son! Something wrong?.... I'm at the loft.... No, not exactly.... Yeah, you could put it that way-- Sentry duty.... No, I'm not in danger. Jim and Blair? Well, they're not exactly here, Daryl.... Yeah, like when Jim traveled to that other plane to fight that demon, and then Blair followed.... Hell, son.... No, that was their literal destination.... I'm sure Blair said 'cool' just like that.... Sure, you can come over. There's no danger on this plane.... I'll have to hurt you if you tell anyone I said that.... Give your old man a break. I'm changing as fast as I can.... Well, I'm not here by myself. There's this man and woman that Jim and Blair are trying to help.... Yep. That's why they're in Hell. But listen, you can come if you want to, just keep a lid on the Sentinel thing. They don't know about that....Okay. I'll see you soon."

Simon stepped back inside. "I'm sorry about that. My son is coming over. He lives with his mother, so I don't see him often."

"Would you like for us to leave?" Jack asked. "Or you could go out with him. We'll look out for Jim and Blair."

Simon shook his head. "It's okay. Daryl is familiar with the supernatural happenings around here. He's probably coming over to see for himself that they're okay, more than he's coming to visit with me."

"So, this is a family affair?" Micki asked.

"It didn't start out that way. It's just that because of something that was going on, Daryl was in danger, and he found out the truth. He's seventeen. He handled it quite well." Of course, age had nothing to do with it; Flip had only been seven, and she'd accepted it like it was the norm. But considering she hailed from New Orleans, and that her mom had a touch of the supernatural herself, maybe it _was_ the norm for her.

"I'm not chastising you, Captain. My nephew has probably been traumatized for life by the things he's experienced at the store," Micki admitted. "It's hard trying to hide that kind of evil from them."

"Maybe we shouldn't try," Simon suggested. "Maybe if we stopped hiding it, it would lose its allure. Maybe if they learned at an early age how dirty and nasty it could get, when they got older they would steer clear of it. I know I'm not worried about Daryl anymore." Of course, being seduced by a demon wasn't something he thought every seventeen year old boy should experience. But it had taught him a valuable lesson.

"Perhaps you're right," Jack said soberly. "But how are you going to convince a nation that won't even promote condom use and the tangible, provable evils it stops, that there is something as abstract as Satan, and that our young people should be warned about him?"

Simon shrugged. "I guess that's why we have to have people like Jim, and you, who fight for those they keep ignorant."

Micki smiled. "I think you do your share of fighting, too, Captain."

"In my own way," Simon said softly, looking at the two men who were fighting the battle now. _Whatever you need, guys, I'm here. Just take it._

There was no reply.

Chapter Fourteen

"Jim!" Blair dashed through the arch and fell to his knees beside his partner. He heard the terrible noise at the same time he took in the fact that Jim's hands were protectively covering his ears. "Dial it back, Jim. Come on. I know you can do it," he urged, placing his hands on the stooped shoulders.

"What is it?" Jim asked as he struggled with the mental dial.

"Something probably only Hell could dream up," Blair said a bit facetiously, after noting that Jim had regained control of his hearing. The cacophony sounded like a mixture of droning, humming, and buzzing, with a healthy mix of human moans, groans, and screams thrown in just to make it blood-curdling. "I think there are a lot of things you aren't going to like sensing around here. Better turn everything down, Jim-- just to be on the safe side."

Jim nodded, and slowly climbed to his feet. He glanced around, noticing their guides hadn't passed beneath the arch, and looked as if they had no intention of ever doing so. "I think we're on our own from here, Chief. Thanks for getting us this far, guys," he called out gratefully. In reply, Cougar stretched out, and began licking his paws. Jaguar sleekly tramped about in a small circle, sniffing the air cautiously before dropping gracefully to the ground. Wolf merely walked over to Jaguar and plopped down beside him, negligently resting his head on the feline's back. Jaguar just shut his eyes and purred.

"Wrapped around your little finger in both worlds. What a shame," Jim murmured, disgusted by the display.

"Yeah, right," Blair snorted dryly, thoroughly unconvinced. He knew that on any given day if Jim told him-- or Jaguar told Wolf-- to jump, man and wolf would both ask, "how high?" on the way up. "Which way now, man?"

Jim's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he started walking, knowing Blair would follow. _Yeah, man. Who is wrapped around what?_

"You got it dialed back?" Blair asked as the noise grew louder.

"Yeah. It's coming from over that rise." Jim led the way up a small hill. They both stared at the sight that met them. From their slight plateau, they watched as men and women-- no, Blair amended as he viewed the figures from different angles, and was shocked to find that sometimes he could look _through_ them-- they watched the _spirits_ of men and women running around in a big circle while hordes of wasps, hornets, and bees chased them. On regular occasions, the insects would swarm over a figure and sting it so badly that it dropped to the ground. Even as it writhed in agony, its fellow spirits would trample it as the chase continued. Eventually, the battered spirit would stumble to its feet, and rejoin the sick merry-go-round.

"This is sad," Blair remarked, his heart aching. "Who are they?"

"This is the Vestibule of Hell, Chief, and they are the shades of the Lurkers and Bystanders. They never did wrong. They never did good. They just watched, and remained lukewarm. Because they never committed to one side or the other, they exist here on the fringe of Hell, unwanted by Satan, and denied Heaven. The bugs continually sting them to make them aware, to make them feel, because they did not feel for their fellow beings while they were on earth."

Blair started to question how Jim knew so much about what was going on, but realized that this was probably one of those instances where Jim just simply "knew." In fact, the use of the word "shade" rather than "spirit" was a definite clue that the Warrior was being given this knowledge from another, and probably ancient, source. He curled his tongue around the word, and decided he liked it better than the less descriptive "spirit". 

He watched the baleful procession go by a few more rounds, then noticed the ant mounds in the center of the circle, and wondered what part they played. Before he could ask Jim, the mounds moved, and with horror he realized that they weren't mounds, but beings covered in teeming ants. "Oh, shit," he moaned. "Who are they?"

"The angels who didn't take sides when Lucifer made war in Heaven. They didn't choose, Chief, so the choice was made for them. Those are army ants covering them. They wouldn't fight in Michael's army, and refused to be in Lucifer's. Now, they are part of the ants'."

"It seems so cruel," Blair said hesitantly.

"Was it not cruel for them to sit back in silence, watching evil, and doing nothing? Just think of how hard it is for us to find a witness to a crime, even in a crowd. Criminals have gotten away, people have died, especially children, Chief, because people like these shades, do nothing. Cruel? Maybe. We reap what we sow."

Blair nodded, still bothered by their eternal pain. But as Jim said, they'd had a chance to make a choice-- and hadn't. "Thanks, man."

"For what?"

"For taking me off the sidelines and putting me into the game. I could have ended up here."

Jim shook his head. "No way. You were way too involved in life to just let it pass you by. I may have put you on the offensive line, but you were definitely playing, Chief. Come on. This is starting to make my skin crawl."

"I know the feeling, man. Where to next?"

"We have to cross the River Acheron which will take us to Upper Hell." He guided his partner down the hill and across a plain until they approached the river. Along the banks were thousands of shades trying to cross into Hell.

"Eager little devils, aren't they?" Blair said, with tongue firmly planted in cheek.

"Yes, and their eagerness is what keeps them out." Jim pointed to where the shades who were swimming across, were dragged beneath by the undertow, which instead of taking them further out, dumped them back on shore.

"How are they-- or we, for that matter-- supposed to get across?" Blair asked, wishing he could remember his freshman English class a bit better.

"By ferry."

Blair nodded as that part of the story came back to him. "An old man in a boat, right? Charon is his name, I think."

Jim nodded and pointed into the mist that hung over the river. "He's coming now."

"So, I take it you're playing the role of Virgil-- the guiding poet, and I'm Dante-- naive and easily shocked. I think the man fainted once or twice in the story," Blair observed.

"You faint, and I'm going to leave you where you lay," Jim threatened, aware that if what Blair had seen in real life by his side hadn't dropped the anthropologist, nothing would.

"My hero," came the dry reply.

Any other comments were halted by the arrival of the skiff and it's oarsman. Charon was old, and damn near scary enough to frighten anyone into a faint. It wasn't so much that his white hair writhed around his head as if alive, but that his eyes were rimmed with actual flame, which flared as he saw the men waiting for him.

"Go back! You can't cross!" he yelled at them. He even swiped his single oar in their direction.

"We have business here!" Jim yelled back.

"You're alive. You're too substantial. You'll sink my vessel."

Jim reached out and touched the boat. It seemed sturdy and solid enough. "It will hold us."

"You'll sink me."

"Take us across, Charon," Jim demanded.

"No!" He reached out with the oar again.

Jim snatched it out of his hand. "Take us across," he repeated, and held the boat steady as Blair gingerly took a step into the ancient skiff.

"We're going to sink," Charon moaned. "We're going to sink."

Blair, noting the boat was still floating, moved back to let Jim board. The shades on the shore stared at them, cursing bitterly.

"Sinking, sinking, sinking," Charon chanted.

"Oh, make a CD of it. It'll last longer," Blair retorted. He turned to Jim in concern as the curses on the shore grew louder. As a friend of his used to say-- they were being called everything but children of God. "You tuning them out?"

"No worse than that crowd at the high school when we arrested the star quarterback for possession."

Blair nodded, remembering that night. What should have been a simple arrest (part of a Major Crime investigation into the school system's drug pipeline) had turned into an ugly mob scene, with creative jeers and vivid threats. The teens weren't entirely stupid, however. None of them had made an actual move toward the policemen. Still, it was an experience he never wanted to repeat. "So, what awaits us on the other side?"

Jim shrugged. "Does it really matter, Chief?"

Blair mirrored Jim's shrug. Whatever was to come, they would face. Together.

*****

"Hey! Isn't that Daryl Banks?" Rafe asked as a vehicle pulled into the lot across from the loft.

"Yeah. I wonder what he's doing here."

"Maybe his dad needed an errand run or something."

Brown chewed on the end of a coffee stirrer. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're the only ones who don't know what's going on? Even the kid seems to have an edge over us."

"That 'kid' shot Sandburg in full view of the bullpen," Rafe reminded him. "If that's the price for inside knowledge, I think I prefer being on the outside."

"You know, on occasion, I'm reminded that you didn't pass the detective exam merely on your looks alone, partner." Brown laughed, ducking the coffee lid sailed in his direction. "Uh oh," he said, sobering quickly.

"What is it?" Rafe asked, instantly on alert.

"Look at the vehicle stopped at the light. Isn't that the car from last night?"

"Damn. We better get the captain on the phone."

"Who or what the hell is the Millennium Group anyway?" Brown asked, dialing his boss.

"From the captain's reaction, I'd say trouble."

Brown nodded, and waited for Captain Banks to answer.

*****

"Cool," Daryl exclaimed as he saw the energy dome in the middle of the loft. "I didn't know you guys could make one so big."

"It _is_ a beauty," Simon said with pride. 

"Is it to protect them while they're, uh, gone?" Daryl took in the still forms seated beneath the dome. 

"Yes, and probably us, too, if we need it." He ushered his son past the dome, and to the sofa where Jack and Micki waited. Introductions were made, just as Simon's phone shrilled. He excused himself to the balcony again.

"So, Daryl, what do you think of all this?" Micki asked the teen.

Daryl shrugged. "This is what Jim, Blair, and my dad do. Dad said something about them going to Hell for you?"

"My cousin's soul was taken unfairly by Satan. Jim is going to try to rescue him."

"Well, my money is on Jim."

"Why is that?" Jack asked. The captain hadn't been very forthcoming, but his son might be a different story.

"He took down Lilith. She certainly wasn't a lightweight."

"Jim has battled Lilith? That must have been quite a show." Jack wondered why he hadn't felt that particular disturbance in the occult realm.

"I don't know. She seemed to go back into exile easily enough when he told her to."

Jack lifted an eyebrow in amazement. "Has he battled other demons?"

"Well, I know about the one that got into Blair. And I think he went to fight another one later that same day. That was when Flip was here."

"Flip?"

"Jim's daughter. She's from New Orleans. I think Jim did something down there, too. I'm not sure about that, because that was before I knew about.... Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about the demons that attacked the loft."

"Attacked the loft?" Micki asked, eyeing her surroundings carefully.

"Yeah, but they couldn't get in. Jim and Blair sealed the windows and doors against them."

Jack was fascinated. It seemed as if, indeed, the loft was a sanctuary. And that Ellison was a lot more "involved" than Rashid thought. Apparently, the man had enough power to shield his actions from those who should be aware of such events. That had its good points, and its flaws. It was good that the man could limit his exposure to the eyes of evil, but he was also limiting his exposure to those on the side of good-- those who needed to keep track of the victories, and were in dire need of champions.

"I hope you will excuse me, but there's something I need to take care of," Simon said, entering the loft in a rush. "Daryl--"

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll stay here and look after Jim and Blair."

Simon nodded, grateful for his son's offer. It wasn't that he was suspicious of Jack and Micki, but they were strangers, and he preferred his Sentinel and Guide be in more familiar hands. "I shouldn't be gone long, but if something comes up--"

"Call you. Got it, Dad."

Simon patted his shoulder as he passed. "Good man."

Daryl beamed at the compliment, and turned to the visitors confidently. "So, what did your cousin do to piss Satan off?"

Chapter Fifteen

"Thanks for the lift, Charon," Blair called, giving a jaunty wave to the shade as the old terror pushed away from the shore in disgust.

"Having fun yet?" Jim asked, smiling at his partner's antics.

"Oh, yeah. Who's up next?"

"He is."

Blair turned around to see a huge snake moving toward them. The part that was upright was taller than Jim, and didn't include the rest which coiled up behind him as he stopped. "Only the dead belong here!" the creature hissed. "Go back, or die!"

Blair surreptitiously took a step behind Jim. He wasn't being cowardly, but practical. Jim was the one who was buddy-buddy with the angels; therefore, dealing with giant snakes was his responsibility. 

"I have no quarrel with you, Minos," Jim said, spreading his hands to reveal he wasn't a threat. "We are merely passing through."

"No one comes through until I judge them."

"We are not yours to judge."

"You are here."

"In search of others you had no business judging," Jim countered.

"I judge all."

"You are merely a secondary magistrate. Those who come to you for judgment have already been judged, and found wanting. We are not those. Let us pass." It was a calmly delivered order, but an order nonetheless.

Green reptilian eyes challenged blue human ones-- and lost. "Your souls will belong to me soon enough," the parting snake warned.

Blair shivered. "What did he mean by that?"

"If we die here, we stay. I mean, who's going to come rescue us? Michael didn't even want _me_ to come," Jim replied, as they continued across a rocky stretch.

"This doesn't bother you?"

Jim shrugged. "Why should it? I don't intend for us to die here."

_Us_. Blair liked the fact he used the word _us_. He followed the Warrior a few minutes more, before halting at the sight before them. "Uh, man, did we take a wrong turn somewhere?" he asked, staring at the lovely pastoral scene spread out on the horizon. The shades there frolicked in the lush green grass, laughing, or just basking in the sunlight.

"This is the First Circle of Hell, Chief. It's called Limbo, and it's reserved for those guilty of the Crime of Ignorance."

"Ignorance is a crime? This must be one crowded circle, huh?" Blair teased. His eyes widened as they drew closer. "Hey! I know some of these people! Naomi and I lived with that guy over there for a while. He didn't seem like that bad of a person. And there's my physics professor from high school. He didn't seem like a creep to me either."

"He wasn't. These people are ignorant of the Light. They are the Cultists, Atheists, and Agnostics. They did no evil, and are thus not punished by Eternal Torment. They are given this ideal spot--"

"In Hell," Blair tossed out angrily.

"In Hell, because, in their minds, Heaven does not exist. Without the Light, there is no Heaven, Chief. So, they are here in Limbo, kept from the Light forever."

"So, you're saying everyone who doesn't believe in God is going to end up here, even if he or she never did anything wrong in their life? That sounds unfair. What about Wiccans, and Shamans, and--"

"I said 'the Light', not God. A name is just a name, Blair. God is the Light. Yahweh is the Light. Allah is the Light. Nature is the Light. Belief is the key here, Chief. Belief that the universe was created, and is kept. These shades did not believe this in any form, using any name. There was no Light for them, no guiding force, no Creator, no Mother Earth, no Father Sky.... They believed in nothing. Therefore, they spend eternity in Limbo."

The explanation appeased the anthropologist somewhat. "I'm sorry I'm being so difficult, but--"

"You're not being difficult. Perhaps if these shades had learned to question better, they would not be stuck here now," Jim said reasonably. "You gonna be okay with this?"

Blair nodded. He wasn't one to criticize anyone's beliefs, but as Jim said, these shades had not believed in anything or anyone. How had they survived on earth without having any faith at all? "Yeah, man. What's next?"

Jim lay a hand on his shoulder, and guided him around the lush oasis that, if analyzed, wasn't much of an oasis at all. They walked in companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder, causing the younger man to look up. In the distance were two tall cliffs with a narrow opening between them. In the narrow opening were gatherings of shades.

"Okay, Mr. Tour Guide, this is your cue," Blair said, curious at what he was seeing. It appeared as if the shades were trying to get up the cliffs in various manners. Some even seemed to be flying.

"This is Circle Two, belonging to those who have committed Crimes of Passion." He pointed to where shades were being buoyed by the wind. "The wind is strong between the cliffs, whipping wildly out of control. The Lusty are caught up into this wind, as they were caught up in lust and its emotions when they were alive. It lifts them, then," he grimaced as a handful of shades were slammed to the rocky ground, "dashes them down in angry dismissal. Also like in life."

"Reaping what you sow again, huh?"

"You will find that's the major theme around here, Chief." Jim pointed to a string of shades crawling up the cliff face. The top one would climb, finding the best foot and hand holds, and the others followed. Then, the second one would reach out for the first, and tug him off the cliff. "Those are the Greedy. They want to make it out, and cooperate for a while, but they always have to be first, have more, be the leader, and eventually, their nature gets the best of them." The tossed shade got up and headed to the end of the string. "They never learn."

Loud voices called their attention to another group of shades. "Those are the Angry. They are so busy fighting, they never even attempt to make the climb. And over there," he nodded to the shades that were climbing, then falling on their own, "those are the Careless. They are easily distracted, and lose their way."

"Carelessness is a sin?"

"They accept responsibility, then don't go through with it. They have children, and leave them locked up in hot cars. They have pets they don't feed. They have jobs that they don't do, or don't do properly, causing accidents and mishaps that kill or maim. How many people have we watched being scraped off an interstate because someone wasn't paying attention?"

"I never really thought of it that way," Blair mused, wincing in remembrance of the times he'd been careless, or said he'd do something, then didn't do it. He often kidded Jim about his strong sense of honor and duty. But now he could see the necessity of being true to your word-- always. "Why am I the only one learning something here?" he asked grumpily.

"You're not," Jim said. "Don't mistake this know-it-all tone of mine as evidence that I _do_ know it all. Some of this I'm just beginning to understand even as I say the words."

"When we get back, we should write this all down-- maybe give someone else a clue."

"You're the writer in the family, Chief," Jim said. "We have to go through the rift now. Watch out for falling shades, okay?"

_The writer in the family. I like that, Jim._ Blair kept his eyes open for dropping spirits, and followed his partner through the narrow passageway. Since they had gone through a crevasse, he was surprised to find they exited on top of an escarpment. Below and away stood a great walled city. "Wow. What's that?" he whispered.

"The City of Dis, the entranceway into Lower Hell. Beyond the walls are those who have committed Crimes of Deliberation. I don't think you're going to complain much about their torment."

"I haven't been complaining...well, not really. It's just that--" He shrugged.

"It's just that you need explanations. I'm just glad that someone is supplying them for you," Jim said, bopping his friend's arm playfully. "C'mon. We have to get down there." He went over and picked up a thick vine, testing it for strength.

Blair paled, but gathered a vine as well. "Why is everything so downhill?"

"They don't call it the descent into Hell for nothing, Chief." He tied the vines together, and secured it to a sturdy promontory. "I'm going to start down first, then you follow, Sandburg. If you fall, I'll catch you, so you don't have any reason to look down or back. Okay?"

When Jim called for him, Blair blindly stepped back off the side of the escarpment, and into the care and trust of his Sentinel.

*****

Simon took the stairs, hoping the extra time would give him some idea of what to do. Parking on the street and watching someone's apartment wasn't exactly a crime. So, he had no legal recourse to lean on if he wanted to get rid of these people. And he did-- want to get rid of them, that is. Jim had called them ghouls when they showed up the last time, and his friend had been right. Some damn prophecy or something had alerted them to the fact that Jim and Blair were in Hell, and they wanted to sit around and watch. Watching was _his_ territory, not theirs, damn it, and he watched in order to help if needed. They merely watched out of morbid fascination. Pure gawkers. Useless creatures!

Okay. He couldn't play big, bad cop and run them off-- not if they hadn't broken the law, but.... His eyes grew big as an evil thought took form. Then they narrowed, as he chuckled and approached the car. The men were staring attentively at the loft's balcony, unaware of the enemy coming up from the rear. How did they expect-- Even as Simon silently asked himself the question, he saw a collection of scopes in the backseat. The men froze when he cleared his throat at the open window and pulled out his badge.

"Greetings, gentlemen," he said kindly. If he couldn't play bad cop, he'd just play a good one. Really good.

"Uh, hi. Are we doing something wrong, Officer?" the man in the passenger's seat boldly asked.

_Yeah. You're ticking me off._ Simon smiled. "No. Actually you're doing something right. As a sworn officer of the Cascade P.D., I have the privilege of naming the two of you Cascade Citizens of the Month."

They exchanged a glance, then stared at Simon. "Huh?" they chorused.

"Now, what I'm going to need are your names and addresses," the captain said eagerly. "Of course, I'll have the press come out and take pictures. Probably can guarantee a page one story since everyone is so tired of bad news, you know. So, your pictures will be--"

The men paled. "We're ss-sorry, sir, but we're going to have to decline your offer," the driver stuttered.

"Nonsense!" Simon boomed, whipping out his cell phone. "It'll just take me a minute to call the press and--"

"We aren't even Cascade citizens," Passenger Boy said quickly.

"No? Who are you then? Where do you come from? Why are you here?" Simon shot out.

The driver reached for the keys in the ignition.

Simon grinned again. "It's all right. I know people can be a little shy. Don't worry. The photographer at the Cascade Times is a friend of mine. I'll make sure he only gets your good side. Of course, when you meet with the mayor--" The captain stepped back just in time to keep from getting his foot run over. He tsked as he reached for a cigar. _People could just be downright rude_.

"Captain, you okay?" Rafe asked, having watched the scene with concern.

"Just fine, Detective. You and your partner haven't found Little Mo yet?" Simon asked, keeping up the pretense they had started.

"No, sir. We're going to stake out the area a little longer, then I think Taggert and Dalton may continue the watch."

"If Little Mo is around here, he should be okay. I'm keeping an eye out for him, you know."

"We know, Captain. But extra eyes never hurt."

Simon sighed, and took a final drag of his cigar. Even with Jim off on another plane, he knew better than to take a lit cigar into the loft. "Whatever you think is best. I'm sure Little Mo will be appreciative of your attentiveness," he added. Jim would be a little embarrassed, but honored by their willingness to sacrifice their off day. "You won't mind if I come out every now and again, maybe have a smoke while we wait?"

"You know us, sir. Always willing to share a stogie. In fact, I think Brown is packing," Rafe said, smiling at his partner.

"Well, carry on, gentlemen. I have no idea when Little Mo will make an appearance. It could be a long night," Simon warned obliquely.

"Just as long as the sun rises in the morning, sir."

Simon nodded, and headed back to the loft. Yeah, he liked that. It didn't matter how long the night was; what really counted was the sunrise in the morning.

_You have the heart of a poet, Rafe._

Chapter Sixteen

"You can open your eyes now, Chief," Jim chuckled as he raised a hand to guide Blair safely to the ground.

"Hey, you're the one who told me not to look," Blair griped, ignoring the ridiculous urge to drop to his knees and kiss the sandy dirt.

" _Down_ , Sandburg. I said don't look down or back."

"You say po-tay-to, and I say po-tah-to," Blair singsonged. "Onward to the city, now?"

"In a second," Jim said solemnly. "I want you to look at the gate, and then at this vine, Chief. Remember their relative positions, so if, say, you're running through the gate and you really need to find the vine in a hurry."

"That's why I have a Sentinel with me, Big Guy," Blair answered with a nervous smile.

"I want you to be able to do it yourself."

"Why? You know something I don't, Jim? Have you had a vision about the future, about me coming back through the gate without you? Tell me, damn it!" he demanded.

"It's not a vision, or even a feeling. It's just.... I need you to do this for me, Chief. Please."

Blair nodded. That final "please" had been unnecessary; as soon as Jim had said the word, "need", it had been a done deal. He calculated the angle between the barred gate seated in the stone wall around Dis and the vine dangling from the cliff, and knew he could navigate his way between the two. "I got it, Jim."

His partner nodded. "Good. Now, let's go visit the original Sin City."

Blair, still bothered by Jim's insistence that he be able to find the vine without him, hadn't paid much attention as they crossed the wide field, but was brought to full awareness by Jim's sudden stop in front of him. "What is it, man?"

"We're being watched."

Blair surreptitiously glanced around, and saw nothing. He turned to give his assessment to Jim, then noticed the Sentinel's gaze was fixed on the wall ahead. When he started to ask Jim what he saw, motion made him see it, too. The stone was moving, parts of it extruding outward, then breaking away to become separate-- and living. As these former pieces of mismatched stone moved forward, the rock became corporeal entities-- tall, fierce warriors, armed with swords and metal shields. As Blair watched, more parts of the wall extruded, and dozens of the beings headed in their direction. "W-who, Jim?"

"Dark Angels," Jim replied flatly. "Those who chose to side with Lucifer."

Oh. Definitely not the friendly sort. "Is this when I'm supposed to remember where the vine is?"

"No. We have not come all this way to be turned back by some candy-assed angels who had it all, and threw it away!" Jim said loudly. "If this is the best you have, no wonder Michael kicked your asses. Stone Angels, huh? Sounds like a 'rock' band. Get it?" he jeered, laughing.

"Human!" The word was spat out like an epithet by the lead angel. "You dare challenge us on our Holy Ground!"

"Unholy Ground, you mean," Jim corrected, as the renegade angels surrounded them. "You know, you really should have bowed when you had the chance."

Blair knew Jim was referring to the real reason behind the war in Heaven. Lucifer and his followers considered themselves higher than man, and refused to bow to mortals, even when ordered. But he didn't think this was the best time to taunt them with the knowledge of everything they'd given up because of their refusal. "Tell me you have a plan," he whispered frantically.

"Not _my_ plan, Chief."

That was the only warning Blair received before lightning split the sky, and thunder rolled so fiercely that it felt as if the ground was boiling beneath them. When his eyes got over the shock of the bright light, Blair saw Jim now possessed a sword-- eerily similar to the one branded into his arm. He gave a sigh of relief, only to belatedly realize one sword wasn't going to do much to deter the armed horde around them. "Any more magic tricks up your sleeve, man?"

"Just one." Jim ran his finger along the edge of the blade he held. He smiled as the blood welled up.

"Jim?" Blair said worriedly. He wasn't planning on doing something sacrificial, was he?

Instead of answering, Jim turned his finger over and let a single drop fall to the ground.

The blood burst into a single blue flame. In a flash, it traveled across the sand, enclosing Jim and Blair in a protective ring, before spreading out like a water ripple. It reached the closest angels and incinerated them on the spot. The furthest angels saw this and began to run, but the flame followed, engulfing all in its path and cremating them in mid-stride. In mere minutes, Blair looked through the smokeless fire and saw nothing but ash around them. Then a wind came, blowing out the flame around them, and gathering the ashes to slam them back against the wall.

Blair looked at the man standing beside him. "What was that?"

"You wanted a magic trick, Chief."

An annoyed tug on a sleeve. "What. Was. That?"

"The reason why the Blood of an Innocent is rarely spilled in Hell," Jim said, his face flushing.

Blair started to worry Jim wasn't feeling well when he realized the older man was embarrassed. Oh. He guessed that being an _innocent_ nearly forty-year-old, ex-soldier, ex-husband, police officer really did sound kind of bad. However, the innocence came not from life experiences-- or lack thereof-- but an innocence, or a purity, of faith. His faith had never faltered-- not when his mother left, his friend Bud was murdered, his family betrayed him, his men died in Peru, nor his Sentinel senses came online. Through it all, despite it all, he never "not believed." That was an admirable achievement, and nothing to be ashamed of. But he knew how much Jim _really_ didn't want to hear that.

"Well, next time warn a guy when you're going to go for self-mutilation," Blair said lightly. "So, what's up with this Dis?"

"It's the capital city of Hell."

"No, it's Vegas," Blair corrected, as they stepped through the unguarded gate and into the city. Garish neon lights assaulted his eyes, and loud music and voices, so many voices, threatened to overwhelm him. He grabbed on to Jim's arm anxiously. "You okay?"

Jim nodded. "Just like Cascade on a Saturday night, huh, Chief?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "If this is your idea of a Saturday night in Cascade, you have got to take me with you next weekend, man." He sobered as a thought struck him. "Is this what you hear every day, Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "Pretty much-- depending on how low or high I set the dial." He focused on their surroundings. "This is where the shades hang out until they take their places in Lower Hell. It sort of lures them into a false sense of 'this ain't so bad'."

Blair noticed the skimpily dressed women and men-- uh, he meant shades-- parading through the city, flirting with patrons at gaming tables, or dancing in night clubs, or just plain-- yep, that's what they were doing-- having sex in any nearby corner. "Yes, I would say the sense of 'ain't so bad' is prevalent here, Jim."

"But when your number is called--" Jim pointed toward a shade being dragged along the street by two burly satyrs-- "you go, no matter what you might have been in the middle of."

Blair suddenly noticed the dragged shade's pants were at his ankles. Oops. Then again, satyrs weren't known for their chastity. "Okay.... So, this place just heightens the coming torment. Makes it a shock to the system, huh?"

"You got it, Ben Franklin."

_Ben Franklin?_ Blair laughed as the non sequitur started making sense. " _Shock_ to the system, right?"

"There's hope for you yet, Sandburg," Jim teased, and tugged his partner through the rest of the city.

It took them nearly an hour to get through the heart of Dis, and Blair had to lower the volume of his running commentary as the sounds slowly faded. "Man, there is _nothing_ like that on earth," he said, looking back at the city.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Chief, because it gets pretty ugly from here on out," Jim said softly. "We have entered the actual realm of Crimes of Deliberation. The sinners of Nether Hell are not those who had a weak will, little self-control, or lacked vision to see the Light. These shades actively chose sin, and are punished accordingly."

"No fun ahead, huh?" Blair asked with a shiver.

"No fun at all," Jim agreed.

*****

"And you never found the heads? That's so whacked!" Daryl was exclaiming as Simon entered the loft.

"Everything okay, Captain?" Jack asked, with a searching glance.

"Just fine, Mr. Marshack." Simon looked at his son. "Do I want to know the beginning of that conversation?"

"Micki and Ryan had to track down a scarecrow that was chopping off people's heads," Daryl explained excitedly. "What else, Micki?"

"Why don't you tell him about meeting Bram Stoker?" Jack suggested.

"The author of _Dracula_?" Daryl asked. Simon raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Dad," the teen sighed. "I did pay attention in Lit class."

"Maybe there's hope for public education, after all," Simon cracked, throwing up his hands in surrender when Daryl glared at him. "I'm sorry I keep interrupting. Please, Ms. Foster, continue."

"Well, Ryan and I were after a broach that turned the wearer into a vampire. What we didn't know was that if blood spilled on the broach, it would take you back in time. Ryan killed one of the vampires with a stake from a realtor's sign, but that vampire had created another one. Blood-- my blood, actually-- spilled on the broach and suddenly Ryan, the vampire, and I ended up in nineteenth century England. We ended up staying with a nice young couple who didn't believe us about the vampire at first. Then the wife fell under the vampire's spell-- and was murdered. I fell under his spell as well, but Ryan managed to expose the vampire to sunlight, and we were able to use the broach to get home. When we told Jack about the couple, and mentioned that the man's name was Abraham, he figured it out that he had to be Bram Stoker, and that his book had so much realism because it was based on fact. I just know I feel terrible about Caitlin dying."

"So, you went back in time, and one of the best known books in history was written? Sounds like one of those space-time continuum situations in science fiction," Daryl mused. "I think Caitlin had to die, Micki, and that you and Ryan had to do what you did as well. Or history would have changed."

"This isn't one of those chicken/egg things?" Simon asked, frowning.

"Yes, Dad," Daryl said patiently, patting his father's knee as if to say he would explain it to him-- in real, real simple terms-- later, in private. "Any other time traveling?"

Micki nodded. "We went back to the Civil War using a cursed projector. A man was using the object to go back to the Civil War to pick up items that he then sold to antique dealers for a great deal of money. When he tried to steal Robert E. Lee's sword, Ryan and I went back to stop him. Later, we found a picture of Ryan as a Civil War spy in one of the old history books."

"Cool. Anything else? You ever time travel, Jack?" Daryl asked eagerly.

"Johnny and I went back to 1954," Jack answered slowly. "The object was a radio for a '54 Chevy. If you wiped blood on it, the car took you back to that year."

"Why would anyone want to go to that year?"

"The person who possessed the radio-- his father had been executed in 1954."

"Executed? As in capitol punishment?" Simon asked, now fully interested in the story he'd only been half-listening to. "What was the crime?"

"He killed a black sharecropper. He was a member of the Ku Klux Klan."

"Damn," Simon muttered. "Why did the son want to go back?"

"To kill the black lawyer who brought the charges against him."

"What happened?"

"Johnny and I managed to save the lawyer, so the man did hang for the murder."

"And the son?"

"Because of what he knew, the KKK thought he was a spy for the federal government. They burned him at the stake before we could get him back to the right time."

"Good," Daryl said bitterly. He could feel the residual anger emanating from his father, and knew Simon was recalling his own memories of those times. He tried to think of something to distract him, and managed to scrape up a grin. "Hey, Pop, since you want me to ditch the idea of being a cop--"

"Not ditch it, son. Just want you to go to college first, then decide," Simon interrupted. Daryl never seemed to understand he had nothing against his son being a cop. But the career could wait four years while he finished his education...and perhaps chose a much safer career path.

"Whatever," Daryl said with a shrug. "Maybe I could get a job at Curious Goods, and help retrieve cursed objects."

If Simon could have paled, he would have. "What about helping Jim?" he asked a little desperately. At least he trusted Jim to watch out for Daryl. "I thought you were supposed to be on his team."

Daryl debated whether to help his dad and friends, or help a beautiful woman like Micki. Sadly, he realized how much he had matured when he discovered it really wasn't a hard choice. "Sorry, Micki. My place is here, with Jim and Blair and Dad."

"It's the fight that counts, Daryl," Jack said. "Not the where, or the who, or the how."

"Besides, you'll have Ryan back to help you," Daryl pointed out.

"Yeah," Micki said, her eyes lingering on the silent forms beneath the dome. "Yeah, we'll have Ryan to help us." Her fingers crossed as Jack's hand enveloped hers.

Chapter Seventeen

"I don't like this place already," Blair said as the air grew hot and arid. A great desert stretched before them, a torrid wind swirling from it.

"This is Circle Three-- reserved for the Deceivers, aka the frauds and the liars."

"They fry in the heat, or what?"

"Watch."

A herd of shades-- they reminded Blair of a bunch of stampeding cows-- came from the west. Behind them was a sheet of flame spanning across the sand. Blair sort of wondered why they even bothered to run; it was obvious the flame was moving faster than they were. The flame reached them, and instead of incinerating them as the anthropologist had expected, it merely knocked them to the ground, then kept on going. The shades, all knocked on their backs, began to shriek, and Blair realized something was happening to them. Their bodies were distorting, the skin stretching and ripping, bones snapping, as their forms were altered. When it was all over, instead of a herd of shades, Blair faced a herd of reptiles.

"Damn," he mumbled.

"Are they men, or are they lizards? Their form was never very clear on earth, their truth always altering. So, here, when the flame hits them, they undergo painful transformations. They wear their deceit for all to see," Jim intoned. "The desert's not too big, so we can walk around it."

"Not many frauds and liars?" Blair asked in surprise.

"Not many who stopped at such a sin. Hell is like a buy-one-get-one-free sale; you pay for the sin that costs the most."

"Oh."

They walked around the edge of the desert for a while, encountering other herds who fought to stay ahead of the sheet of flame, and lost. Then Blair's nose twitched, and he found himself smelling the most awful stench he'd ever had the misfortune of smelling.

"Oh, man, I hope your sense of smell is in the negative numbers," he said as he switched to breathing through his mouth.

"We are approaching Circle Four-- the Marsh of Styx."

"Thought it was a river," Blair commented, remembering the band of the same name.

"Take a good whiff, Chief. Does that smell anything like a free-flowing river to you?"

"No. It smells more like a backed up sewer."

"Quite an appropriate comparison. The sewers of Dis empty here."

Soon, they walked up on the slime-encrusted bog, and Blair swore he could see the stench wafting up into the air. "Where are the shades?" he asked, as his eyes watered from the smell.

Jim pointed toward the center of the water, and Blair could suddenly make out the shapes that sometimes bobbed to the top of the foul water. They were covered in slime, and indecipherable sludge. "And they are?"

"Those guilty of Vice: gambling, prostitution, pornography, narcotics, racketeering, you name it."

"So now they get to play in the muck they traded in, right?"

"By George, I think he's got it," Jim exclaimed in a lousy British accent.

"Oh, man. Guess we need to get some tapes of The Professionals for you to watch, so you can get the accent right. Of course, watching those Bonanza episodes didn't do you a bit of good."

"Hey, I was doing fine until Freeman blew my cover," the offended man protested. "The Professionals was that show about British black ops specialists, right?"

"Well, they weren't exactly black ops--"

"Trust me, Chief. They were."

Blair started to argue, then realized Jim was speaking from experience. Before he could good-naturedly concede, he spotted a familiar face. "Hey, Jim! Isn't that--"

"Moses Temple," Jim murmured the missing snitch's name. "Little Mo!" he called loudly.

The shade bobbed to the surface, trying to find out who called his name. With effort, he swam/waded closer to them. "Det. Ellison and his Tonto. Never thought I'd see the two of you here."

"Don't get too excited; we're just visiting," Jim said dryly. "Rafe and Brown have been looking for you. Want to pass on a clue about the whereabouts of your body?"

"Franklin's Salvage. A yellow refrigerator over next to a toilet."

"And the culprit?"

"Joey Basso. He's the new fence in Cascade...and he's also an enforcer for the Manolo Brothers. I stumbled upon that information, then stumbled upon my death," Little Mo said, as he moved closer to the dry land.

Jim heard something racing toward them, and he managed to pull Blair out of the way, just as a three-headed dog bounded into the water and forced Little Mo back into the center. With a snarl of all three mouths, he then turned toward the two entities not in the marsh. Slime and mud from the Styx dripped from his large fangs.

Jim held out his sword. "No, Cerberus! We are not escaping shades! Let your nose be your guide!"

The beast approached, sniffing them with his three noses. With a satisfied snarl, he turned around and went back to his patrol.

"Well, that got the ol' adrenaline pumping," Blair said shakily. "So, do we walk around this like we did the desert?"

"Nope. Way too big. It's time for another boat ride."

Blair blinked, and the boat appeared. It was a small, flat-bottomed, canoe-like craft, and he knew he'd seen one like it before. "The bayou!" he exclaimed as he remembered. "They used this type of boat to navigate the bayou."

"A pirogue, Chief. They used them to recover the Lost Ones."

"Why do you do that, man?"

"Do what?"

"Name them like that: the Lost Ones, the Forty-Two? Is it easier for you to think of them as a group than as individuals?" Emotionally, I mean?"

Jim shook his head. "That's the way they come to me, the way they communicate. Remember how hard it was when the Forty-Two tried to reach me individually? My mind became too crowded. So, they merged and now they, as well as the others who come, contact me as a collective. But there are individuals who will remain individuals. Alicia has not become part of the Lost Ones, and Michael Prescott has not melded into the Baltimore Nine. They are both separate entities."

Blair nodded his understanding, and Jim glanced away from him as the boat bobbed at the edge of the marsh. "Phylegas," he said to the tall, thin boatman. "Take us across."

Phylegas looked mournfully at the whip in his hand. He had the authority to torment the shades he carried to the other side, but he knew his authority did not carry to these two. "Come, then."

The journey across the marsh was interrupted many times by the bold shades who tried to clamber over the sides, or tried to entice Jim and Blair into allowing them to board. 

"Come on, baby. Minnie will do you right."

"Hey, tall and handsome, want me to do you both?"

"Ain't you sweet-looking with all that hair. Let Tommy make you feel good."

"You boys looking for a job? My stable could really use you."

"I bet you photograph well. I could put you into movies-- tasteful ones. Really. Just let me--" 

Phylegas' whip sang as it forced the shades back. "This is almost as satisfying as beating my passengers," he said gleefully.

"I'm happy for you, man," Blair muttered, making sure he stayed in the center of the boat until it bumped against the opposite shore.

His nose wrinkled again as he followed Jim through the dark jungle that existed on this side of the Styx. "Don't tell me-- there's another marsh ahead?" Jim shook his head. "A cesspool? A slaughterhouse?"

"A river."

"A river?"

"Of boiling blood."

Blair gasped, and willed his stomach to remain in its current position.

*****

"So, are Jim and Blair into Feng Shui?" Micki asked as she looked around the loft. She knew she was sort of snooping, but so far, the captain hadn't called her on it.

"Feng Shui?"

"Feng Shui is the art of comprehending how the natural energy of life affects us in our daily life. It's an Eastern practice of finding balance using the five elements and the seasons, by the energetic identification of the directions of your dwelling and the rooms inside it."

"Sounds like something Sandburg might be into," Simon said with a grunt.

"He's the one who picked the loft?" Jack asked. "It's really quite difficult to find an existing building that is as balanced as this loft. Whoever chose this place, chose well."

Simon gripped the pen he'd been using to scan the reports he'd been working on. Jim had bought the loft before Carolyn, and had refused to give it up for her. Said that the moment he stepped in the door, he knew it was home. _Just how long have you been indulging in this weird shit, Ellison? Apparently a lot longer than any of us, including yourself, has imagined_. "Jim's always been a stickler for exactness. Should watch him hang wallpaper some day," he added.

"I'm grateful for the man, myself," Daryl said. "I don't even want to think about the nightmares I would've had in a room papered by you, Dad." He'd heard the story of how Simon had invited Jim and Blair to help him re-do Daryl's room. According to the legend, Jim had eventually kicked the captain out, and had only tolerated Blair because Blair was used to doing everything "exactly" as Jim said.

"You remember that gratefulness when you're begging for spending money at college," Simon growled.

"Oh, most beloved Father, please forgive your remorseful son," Daryl appealed with feigned earnestness.

Simon rolled his eyes. Daryl was getting more and more like Sandburg every day.

"Is this your sister, Daryl?" Micki asked, drifting over to the set of pictures on the bookcase.

Daryl loped over to her side. "No, that's Jim's daughter, Flip. I told you about her. And that's Blair's mom, Naomi. That's Dad and me, of course. I was _real_ young in that one," he added with an embarrassed grin. It had been taken just after Kincaid had taken the police department hostage. "That's two detectives, Brian Rafe and Henri Brown. And that's my uncle, Joel Taggert. He's not really my uncle, but he's an old friend of Dad's, so.... Hey, Dad? You remember the name of Blair's Barbary ape?"

"Larry, I think. Don't tell me they have a picture of him?"

"What do you think?"

Simon sighed. "What I think is that it's time to get something to eat. Anyone have any preferences?"

"Pizza?" Daryl proposed.

Everyone nodded.

Simon let his son take care of getting everyone's favorites, and the teen even went down the block to the corner store for soft drinks.

"Hey, Dad?" he called when he returned, and Simon joined him in the kitchen. "Did you know Uncle Joel and Det. Dalton are staked out outside?"

Simon nodded. "They realized something was going on, and wanted to be of help."

"What are they watching for?"

"There's a group that keeps sniffing around. Jim calls it some kind of cult, and he doesn't trust them. They call themselves the Millennium Group, and they dabble in prophecies and trying to interpret what will happen when the millennium arrives."

"Like interpreting the stuff of Nostradamus or the Book of Revelation?"

"Exactly."

"They think Jim has something to do with the end of the world?"

Simon shrugged.

"Does he?" Daryl questioned worriedly.

The captain started to say no, then realized he had no idea. "All I know is that I trust Jim, son."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, so do I." With the quick acceptance of youth, he dismissed his worries, and went back to his kitchen duties of getting silverware and plates for the arriving pizza.

Chapter Eighteen

"No way, Jim. Not this time," Blair said, staring at the long drop straight down.

"Relax, Sandburg. I'm not going to ask you to jump off a waterfall of boiling blood...or is that a bloodfall," Jim asked with a curious frown.

"Man, now is not the time for you to exercise your academic curiosity," Blair complained, leaning over one more time to glimpse the sickening pink froth at the bottom of the fall. A bloodfall. Hell was just one bad surprise after another. "How are we going to get down?"

Jim looked around the stark and barren terrain. "I have no idea.."

"What do you mean you have no idea?"

"What part of that didn't you understand, Sandburg?" Jim replied dryly.

"Just ask for help like you did back with the Fallen Angels."

"That wasn't a plea for help, Chief; that was the mental whimper of a terrified man," Jim admitted in grim honesty.

"Really? It didn't look that way to me."

"Never let them see you sweat."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Another game rule, right? I'm beginning to think there are as many game rules as house rules."

"Where do you think I got the idea?"

"I should have known," the anthropologist muttered. He doubted Jim had been as terrified as he said; Blair knew terror on a first-name basis, and knew it could be hidden only so well. A man like Jim probably thought fear and terror were on the same level. Blair knew differently. "So, how do you plan on getting us down there?"

Jim shrugged. "What the hell?" He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. "Hey, can I get some help around here?"

"Well?" Blair asked two seconds later.

"It's Hell, Chief. I'm not sure they recognize the word 'help'--" Jim pivoted, and froze.

Blair followed his gaze and saw this enormous creature crawl up from the side of the deep drop. It had huge, clawed feet, which Blair assumed made it possible for him to climb the sheer slope. Its back was wide and flat like an alligator's but had a series of armored ridges and ended in a barbed tail. Its head was turtle-like, but contained a pig-like snout and boar-like tusks. However, its eyes were what caught and held Blair's attention; his eyes were as warm and brown as a deer's.

"I am Geryon, Master" the beast said, as it stopped near Jim. "My Mistress Lilith bids me do your will."

"Can you take us down into the Abyss?"

"Climb aboard Geryon, Master. I will assist you in your descent."

Jim situated himself in between a couple of the ridges and instructed Blair to do the same. When he was satisfied with both their positions, he urged Geryon forward. As they headed downward, Jim was grateful for the ridges which held them in place. Concentrating on his partner, he could feel his fear, and soothed it the best way he knew how. He talked.

"This, Sandburg, is the reason why you don't make enemies of your old girlfriends."

"It's not something I do deliberately, Jim," Blair reminded him.

"It comes from the type of women you date, Chief. You see, I only date professionals."

"And criminals," Blair muttered, his anxiety already easing as he focused on his conversation with Jim.

"Ah, but _professional_ criminals," Jim added, glad to hear his partner chuckle at that.

"Let me remind you that Sam was a professional," Blair pointed out. "And she was the worst one."

"True. I guess it's just your lousy taste in women."

"You don't want to go there, man."

"How many of your former ladies would be gracious enough to send you help in Hell? She might be a demon, Chief, but you have to admit, Lilith has class."

"Fine, Jim. You date the classy women, and I date-- well, I date. So, where are we headed?" Blair asked, deftly changing the topic.

"Into the Abyss, where dwells those guilty of Violence. We'll undoubtedly run into a few shades we knew in life."

Blair nodded. He'd come to accept violence as a part of his life since he'd met Jim. Not that he liked it, not that it still didn't scare him how savage man could be, but it was part of the Sentinel, part of the Warrior, part of Jim.... Acceptance had come reluctantly, but it had been necessary. He lost himself in that thought, and was surprised when the gentle bouncing/swaying gait he'd become accustomed to, stopped. He was equally surprised to find himself on level ground.

"Thank you, Geryon," Jim said formally as he jumped lightly from the beast.

"Yeah, thanks," Blair said. "Why are you here? You don't seem evil?" he questioned, giving the beast a pat on the back.

"I am a monster, created by evil magick. I am ugly. I have no where else to be," Geryon replied. "I will wait here, Master, in case you have further need of me."

"That's sad, Jim," Blair said as he trailed after his partner. "He might have been created by evil, but he's not."

"I know, Chief. But, remember, there is little I can do here."

"I know. And I wasn't asking you to do anything, really. I just.... It's sad, man."

Jim squeezed his arm in sympathy. "Yeah, it is. So is this." He pointed to the stark stand of trees in front of them.

Blair wanted to call it a forest because there were so many trees, but they had few leaves and the branches were thin and weak. It just wasn't "hardy" enough to be considered a forest. As he watched, a big, dark bird with the head of a woman, landed on one of the branches. A soft moan floated through the air. The bird fluttered around, tapping her beak against the branch, and the moan turned into a full-blown groan. Finally, she drove her pointed beak into the weak wood, then cawed gleefully as the branch cracked. Blair looked on in horror, as blood poured from the tree, and a scream split the atmosphere.

"This is Circle Five-- The Wood of the Suicides. For committing Violence Against Self, these shades sprout into trees who are tortured by the Harpies-- the women-birds."

"This is too harsh, Jim. These people had to be suffering on earth if they committed suicide. They don't need this shit here, too!" Blair said furiously.

"I don't make the rules, Chief," Jim said calmly. "But in this case, I understand them."

"I'm not surprised. You seem to revel in rules. Explain this to me, Jim."

"Life is a gift granted by the Creator. These people violently rejected that gift. Not only that, they made a decision that was not theirs to make: who lives and who dies are not part of free will. That's why the Violent are in the lower depths of Hell. Suicide is a form of murder."

"But they were in pain."

"And killing themselves did not ease it."

"You can't tell me that you've never contemplated it, Jim," Blair charged. "I've seen glimpses of the pain you carry, man."

"And because I did not succumb to the thought, my pain was eased considerably. I held on, Chief, and was rewarded. These people did not. They gave in, gave up. For all they knew, help would have arrived the next morning, or the next hour, or the next minute."

"Not everyone has your strength, Jim. Not everyone has your faith."

"My body, my strength, is a reflection of the way my parents' genes interacted. It's a random mixture, and no one else will be exactly the same. You're smaller. Simon is bigger. That can't be helped. But faith-- faith is open to everyone, Chief. Regardless of size, regardless of strength. I can't feel guilty for having it, and I won't apologize for not letting my demons overwhelm me. Everyone of these people had the chance to live. Some of them drank themselves to this point. Some of them popped pills, sniffed, smoked, or injected themselves to this point. Others were more deliberate, using guns, knives, or a running automobile. All are guilty of murdering themselves...and murder is a crime."

"What about euthanasia?"

"What about it?" Jim asked wearily, not wanting to get into all of this, but willing to let Blair argue his convictions.

"Will I be dooming you to Hell because one day I might be suffering so badly, that I beg you to kill me?"

"You wouldn't do that, Chief. You wouldn't give up like that."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"You? Who have made a living will? Remember the conversation we had earlier, Jim? When you were heading off with Micki? What was that all about? Murder?"

"That's about when all hope is gone. According to my living will, _you_ get to make the final decision, Blair, because I know if you're ever willing to give up on me, then all that can be done _has_ been done."

Blair stared at him, furious for having been handed that kind of responsibility. "You know, sometimes it's quite easy to hate you," he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Jim gave a half-hearted shrug. "You're not the first one to tell me that, Chief," he replied softly, turning away to stare at the ravaged trees/souls.

"But I don't," Blair said, laying a hand on Jim's arm. "I don't hate you."

"I know."

"However, we are not going to agree on this portion of your Hell, so I suggest we move on."

"Fine," Jim said quietly. "But if you are right about this being a shared figment, then this is not just _my_ Hell, Chief."

With a shiver, the Guide silently followed his Sentinel.

*****

Simon watched his son's animated face as he listened to more of the exploits of Micki and Jack. The captain was shocked at how far he had come-- not Daryl, but himself. A year ago, he would have called anyone a liar who said he'd be comfortable sitting around listening to his son discuss the occult with people who retrieved cursed objects for a living. No, he wouldn't have called them liars; he would have called the men in white coats to pick them up. But here he was-- Captain Simon Banks-- making candles and lending his energy to create protective domes. Captain Simon Banks-- thankful that his son was here with him, discussing evil, and not conjuring it up. Captain Simon Banks-- playing host to a witch and a wizard. Captain Simon Banks-- Watcher to the Sentinel and Companion to the Warrior. Somewhere, someone was sitting back, laughing his/her ass off.

Speaking of "she"s.... "Daryl, don't you think it's about time you headed home?" he asked, glancing at his watch. "Your mother's going to be worried."

"I'll just call and let her know I'm staying with you for the night, and--"

Simon shook his head. "Tomorrow is Mother's Day, son. Let her wake up on that day with her son under her roof at least one more time. You'll probably be off on some Senior Trip next year at this time."

Daryl sighed, but knew there was no use arguing. "Okay. But can I come back in the morning?"

"You can _call_ in the morning. And we'll discuss your coming back _after_ you take your mother out to lunch." Simon took out his wallet and peeled out a few bills. "Some place nice, okay?"

"And don't _you_ forget to call Grandma tomorrow," Daryl reminded him.

"Giving me a taste of my own medicine?" Simon questioned, fastening his meaty hand around the back of his son's neck. "Let me walk you out."

"Bye, Micki. Bye, Jack," Daryl called as his dad propelled him out of the loft. "You gonna be all right here tonight, Dad? I know Teo and the others would be glad to back you up if you need it."

Simon grinned. Yes, Jim definitely had his own band of devotees. "I'll be okay. The guys are parked down the street, and as you know, Micki and Jack aren't strangers to this stuff. Go home, and don't worry about me. You know there's no safer place than the loft."

"Yeah, I guess I do know that." He gave Simon a quick hug. "I'll send Jim and Blair my best and strongest thoughts."

"You do that, son," Simon said, staring at the taillights as the car drove away. After a moment, he turned and waved at whichever duo was keeping watch.

Then, he walked into the building and up to the loft, to keep his own personal watch.

Chapter Nineteen

They followed the river. Jim had said it was called Phlegethon, and Blair figured that was a suitable name for such a horrible thing. It was constantly hazed over with steam, only an occasional breeze brushing the mist away and allowing them to see the actual roiling blood. As they traveled further, Blair began to notice there were shades in the river. 

"Is this another Circle?" he asked.

"Yes, Circle Six-- reserved for those who were Violent Against Others. The crime committed positions you in the river. Minor violence gets you a place near the shore. Major violence gets you into the center of the river and atop the flames which heat it. See the blood-covered blobs screaming way out there in the middle?"

Blair squinted, then a breeze came and he could see more clearly, but not in great detail. "I see them, Jim. Who are they?"

"Two of them are Dillon and Tommy Juno."

Blair whipped his head toward Jim, wanting to see his face. The Junos had been responsible for the death of Jim's protege, Danny Choi. Jim noticed his concern, and forced his jaw to unclench. "I knew I would run into ghosts here, Chief. These won't be the last."

"Jim! Why are you here? You're not supposed to be here!" a female voice cried out in panic.

Both men turned toward the voice, and Blair paled when he saw that it was the shade of Lila Hobson. Lila had meant something to Jim; the detective had hesitantly admitted that Lila could have been _the_ one. Blair, on the other hand, wondered how much of it had been love on Jim's part, and how much of it had been gratitude. Jim had met Lila right after he'd been rescued from Peru, and was contemplating ending what he had thought to be a life-long career in the Army. It had been a bad time for him-- the memories of the helicopter crash and the subsequent burials still vividly clear thanks to the intense debriefing; wondering if he could function as a civilian, but knowing he could no longer blindly follow orders of commanders he distrusted; re-submerging the senses that had been so natural in the jungle, yet so alien in the world which he had been born.... Into that maelstrom walked a beautiful woman, who had soothed the troubled man with her body and her spirit-- life in an otherwise barren zone. But Lila really hadn't been life. She was death, in a cold and calculated way. She was a hitwoman, a paid assassin, and with one of the few drops of mercy she had left in her, she had walked away from Jim before that part of her life touched him.

However, fate was capricious, and it had drawn the two together once more in Cascade. Jim's senses kept trying to warn him about the "love" of his life, and thankfully the Sentinel had trusted his Guide and Watcher with his unease. Together, they'd discovered who Lila was, but not before her handlers discovered who Jim was. She'd been ordered to kill him, and when she could not, another had taken her place. In order to save her lover, Lila had stepped into the bullet meant for him, and died in Jim's arms.

Apparently that was what Jim was remembering as he approached the riverbank, wearing his sadness like a warm cloak. "I'm not here to stay, Lila. I'm...I'm on a mission."

"Always the good soldier. My sacrifice was not in vain."

"Never. But I am sorry about this." He spread his arms to encompass the river.

"It's where I belong. I was a killer, Jim, and sacrificing myself for you did not redeem me. It couldn't have, because I did it more for myself than for you. I wouldn't have been able to live knowing I had killed you; therefore, it would have been a waste for both of us to die."

"I will never forget you, or what you did for me," Jim choked out, and Blair locked his hand around his partner's forearm, preventing him from stepping into the boiling blood that he hadn't even noticed he was approaching.

Lila tried moving toward him, but when she stepped out of her designated spot in the blood, a line zinged through the air, and a large hook caught her in the back. Through the mist, Blair spotted a demon "fisherman" on the opposite riverbank, gleefully reeling his charge back to her rightful place.

"Bye, Jim," she said longingly.

"Bye, Lila," he replied abruptly. Quick, long strides took him far beyond the river's edge.

"Jim?" Blair inquired cautiously as he rushed to keep up.

"Sorry, Chief," Jim said, immediately slowing his pace. "It's silly to try to outrun my ghosts, when I live with them every day."

"She meant a lot to you."

"It wasn't just her I was trying to get away from. I knew so many in that river, Blair. Most of the familiar faces, I personally dispatched to this fate. Makes me wonder why I shouldn't be out there, boiling with the rest of them."

Blair reached out and savagely pinched him. "I won't have this, Jim! I won't have you stand here in the middle of Hell, telling me how much you belong here. This is _not_ the place to have a pity party. Do you understand? Don't let Lila and whoever else you recognized in that foul liquid make you doubt yourself. They are dead, and we are alive. If you don't believe it, focus on that spot you're rubbing on your arm." He shrugged when Jim glared at him. "If you belonged here, you would _be_ here. You know that better than I do."

"Pinch me like that again, Sandburg, and I _will_ belong here," Jim warned, reaching out toward his partner. Blair nimbly scooted out of the way, but couldn't evade Jim forever. However, instead of receiving a retaliatory pinch, he was rewarded with a quick embrace.

"So, where to now?" Blair asked happily.

"To Circle Seven."

"Still the Violent?"

"Yes, but these are those who attack and slaughter groups. They are your warmongers, terrorists, extremists, and those who commit hate crimes."

"Is this the really deep end of the river?"

"No. We'll have to stop just as we get through the forest, then I'll show you." They trudged a few hundred yards, before Jim pulled back some branches of a tree-- which thankfully wasn't the bleeding type-- and revealed to Blair a world of the dying. There was decaying plant matter everywhere, and the shades were decaying as well, great moans of pain erupting from them as they crawled from place to place, too weak to walk upright.

"They are dying of radiation, but will never die," Blair said breathlessly, adding together the symptoms he was seeing.

Jim nodded. "Because of them, billions have suffered throughout the millennia of man's existence. Now, they will suffer until the Apocalypse."

"Which will be?"

"When it will be-- if I keep my nose clean," Jim added wryly.

"What does that mean?"

"I... uh.... When Ahriman wouldn't take my no for an answer after I defeated Helaire, Michael sorta had to threaten Ahriman--"

"You almost singlehandedly started Armageddon?" Blair asked in whispered shock. Then he grinned. "And you have the nerve to call me a trouble magnet. Wait until I tell Simon. Man, oh man. This trip has been enlightening, to say the least."

"Remember. I'm in the middle of an identity crisis. My ego is extremely fragile at the moment," Jim said quite pitifully.

Blair burst out laughing, not buying any of it. "Forget about Helen being the face that launched a war. No, it's Jihad Jim-- instigator of the Holiest of Wars."

"Sandburg!" Jim hissed.

"So, Michael is like your Blessed Protector, right? Does he give you house rules, too? When you visit, are there color-coded containers, and can you flush after ten at night?" Blair hooted.

Jim just shook his head. "You're loving this, aren't you, Chief?"

Blair pulled himself together and looked at Jim solemnly. "Yes, James, I am." The pose held for exactly seven and half seconds (Jim counted), then Blair was laughing again. 

With a sigh, Jim continued the journey, giggles trailing behind him.

*****

"These are about Jim?" Simon asked, scanning the stack of texts on the dining table.

"Mostly," Jack answered. "Blair said he wanted to read them, but that was before the uh, changes in travel plans were made."

Simon picked up the top one. "It's in English."

"Rashid translated them. Many are just fragments of their originals, the rest having been destroyed through the ages. This first one is from a Gnostic text--"

"One of the Dead Sea Scrolls?"

Jack looked impressed. "I knew there had to be more to you than just a police captain."

Simon didn't know whether to be offended, or pleased that his Comparative World Religion elective in college hadn't been a complete waste of time. That had been his original opinion when it didn't get him a date with Leona Anderson.

"Actually this one was found about fifty miles away. Rashid thinks it probably is one of the scrolls, which someone discovered and took home with them. Now, this one here," Jack said enthusiastically, "has a more detailed reference to someone resembling Jim. It's a Kabbalistic piece, which...."

During the next couple of hours, Simon wondered if Jack was so happy to have someone listen to his theories and conclusions that he didn't notice how out of his depth Simon was, or had he retained more from his religion class than he thought. He finally decided it was a mixture of both, and also concluded that he'd have Blair give him a cook's tour of Rainier's library when he returned. Not that he had any intention of pursuing his study of these ancient texts, but just in case....

"Where is that Rosicrucian document?" Jack muttered. "Micki, do you know if--" He stopped as he turned to find the redhead asleep on one of the sofas. "She had a rough night of it last night," he said apologetically.

"I'm sure she did," Simon replied, his voice warm with sympathy. "Or it could be that she's tired because it's been a long day. It's after midnight." He said it as a statement of fact, not revealing how shocked he'd been at the discovery. Jim and Blair had been gone for nearly fifteen hours.

"Did Jim have any estimate of how much time he would need?" Jack asked.

Simon shook his head. "Time on alternate planes is relative. The last time Sandburg was gone, he was out of it for three hours, but to him it only seemed like one." The captain froze, suddenly realizing this was all becoming way too familiar to him. Maybe Jim wasn't the only one experiencing an identity crisis. "Let me check Sandburg's room to see if it's habitable. Ms. Foster will probably be more comfortable there, with the additional privacy."

"Captain, Micki and I would appreciate it if you'd use our first names. You and your friends have already done so much for us, and I think we've made some personal inroads into friendship today, haven't we?"

"Yes, we have, Jack. And, please, make it Simon."

After getting Micki settled into Blair's surprisingly clean room, Simon offered Jack Jim's bed. 

"Why don't you take it, Simon? After talking about some of this information with you, I'm a little wound up and might as well go through the rest of it."

"Want some company? I was curious about this mention in the Malleus Malficarus...." Snagging a couple of beers from the fridge, Simon settled in beside Jack, and split his attention between learning more about what he could expect from a future that included a Warrior, and watching the Warrior himself.

*****

Tony Bozeman tapped his fingers disgustedly against the steering wheel as he sped down the highway toward Cascade. The Millennium Group was getting slack, it's younger members not nearly as bright as they should have been. He'd asked them to keep an eye on a police detective, and they had set up a stakeout _in front_ of his residence. How stupid was that?

"Yep. I'd give up the Group if I didn't need the manpower," he said to himself. "Of course, if the men tonight were indicative of the Group's recruits, I'd be better off hiring my own staff. I'm worried about the state of the Group anyway. To get rid of Peter Watts that way. It was bad enough that they turned Frank Black against them. I wonder if-- No, they scared him too badly. He and that gifted child of his deserve a few years of peace." Of course, they might not have a few years.

No. He couldn't think that way. Not when the truth was right before him. Not when salvation was within reach.

Not when Jim Ellison had been sent to lead the worthy into the Millennium.

Chapter Twenty

"What?" Blair suddenly demanded.

"What what?" Jim replied bewilderedly. From his viewpoint, they had just been walking along, the river a distant memory, when Blair blurted out the question.

"You just grew tense. Why?"

"How?" He stared at his partner. " _I'm_ the Sentinel."

"And I'm the Guide who has studied you. You think I can't recognize when you grow tense, the slight hunch of your shoulders, the stiffness in your gait, that damn twitch in your jaw?" Blair asked, exasperated. "What are we about to approach? Circle Eight, right? I can already tell it's another smelly one. Or are they paving the roads to Hell now in asphalt instead of good intentions?"

"You're smelling the tar pit which comprises Circle Eight-- home to those Guilty of Special Crimes."

"How special?" Blair asked slowly.

"Mass and serial killers--"

The color drained from Blair. "Lash."

"Yes."

"Maybe we won't see him. We haven't seen everyone, have we? I mean, we've dealt with a lot of criminals and we haven't seen all the dead ones, right?"

"No, Chief. We haven't seen them all."

"And the tar pit is bound to be crowded."

Jim nodded. "It also contains torturers and those who hurt children."

" _Big_ pit then. We won't see Lash, Jim. And if we do--" Blair shrugged. "If we do, he's dead and I'm not. Besides, that was a long time ago. I'm tougher than I used to be."

Jim gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze.

The smell was terrible and Blair wondered why smell seemed to be the major abused sense in Hell. Was it because odors made such lasting memories or had such a gut-wrenching, if not emotional, effect on the mass majority? Sound had to be regulated just right to affect people. Taste had to be placed in a person's mouth. Sight could be negated by a simple shutting of the eyes. But smell...smell was hard to ignore-- unless you were a Sentinel and were prepared for such nastiness. He glared at his partner.

"What? What did I do now?" Jim asked in confusion at the searing glance, blithely unaffected by the cloying, ever-strengthening scent of hot tar.

"Nothing," Blair muttered, as he tried to mentally settle his stomach. Approaching forms made him forget the smell. He looked at the two centaurs pawing the ground in front of them, armed with tridents. "You know, Hell has better security than the Cascade Airport," he groused, then looked at Jim in mild shock. "That's not a good thing, is it?"

"Fear not, Sandburg. You always travel with a cop."

"Should I remind you of certain trips I've taken with this cop and his captain?"

"You're alive, aren't you?"

"I'm in Hell, Jim. I don't know if that qualifies for the 'live' column."

"Halt, mortals!" one of the centaurs yelled.

"Guess that answers the question," Jim said smugly, before raising his head to confront the centaurs. "We come not to interfere, only to observe!"

"Turn back!"

"No!"

Before the shouting match could continue, another centaur galloped up. With a metal sash slung across his broad chest, it was obvious he wasn't merely another soldier. "Stand down," he told the other centaurs.

"But, Chiron," one started to complain. "They are mortals."

"Fools! Look at the tall one closely, then try to deny him."

The centaurs did as their leader asked, then one, followed by the other, performed a show horse bow, keeping their heads down until after Jim and Blair had passed.

"What the hell was that about?" Blair hissed.

"Beats me," Jim whispered back.

"I wish," Blair muttered, too soft for even a Sentinel to hear. He was beginning to get the idea that Jim commanded a lot of respect in Hell. Why then, if his Warriors had this kind of power, had Michael been reluctant to send Jim to the Underworld? Or was some of this respect due to the fact that Jim had been Lilith's...consort, of sorts? Only Jim could turn sleeping with a demon into a good thing.

Blair looked out across the vast tar pit and shuddered as black forms bobbed to the surface, sometimes breaking it, or most often, just causing a slight bulge before sinking back into the viscous substance. He didn't know why Jim thought he'd be able to pick out Lash; the clingy tar made identification impossible. Of course, his partner proved that theory wrong only a few minutes later.

"Harold Reagan," Jim gritted out, pointing to one of the anonymous black forms. 

Harold Reagan. Blair liked to called him "The Beginning". Jim called him-- well, it didn't matter what Jim called him, because Reagan and his crimes were the catalyst for Jim's transformation. Okay, maybe _transformation_ was a bit over the top; then again, Jim had been changed that day when he stood in that raided crack house and "heard" the cries of the forty-two children buried beneath the rotting floor. The ghosts had been drawn to the Sentinel like moths to a candle, but instead of the moths burning, it had been the candle which had almost been occluded. Yet, it remained burning despite the assault, until Harold Reagan had been dealt with and, apparently, sent to his proper eternal home in the Eighth Circle of Hell.

Despite the damage to the candle, it continued to light the darkness for "lost" children, until one of the lost made it possible for the candle to burn without being harmed. As usual, when he thought of Alicia Delacroix, Blair sent up a prayer of thanks.

"Helaire."

For a moment, Blair thought Jim was reading his mind, then he realized that the blob the Sentinel was looking at with such a feral gleam in his eye was Alicia's mother. _Oh, joy_.

"Chiron, I want that one," Jim snarled, and it was only then that Blair became aware of the shadowing centaur.

"As you wish." The centaur reached out with the long trident and savagely speared the shade in question. Then he dragged his catch to the edge of the pit.

When Helaire's hand reached out to solid ground, Jim jabbed his sword into the pitch-covered extremity. Blair flinched at his friend's deliberate cruelty, but understood it. Jim had experienced Helaire's malevolence and brutality through Alicia's eyes...and Alicia's pain. It was difficult to comprehend what adults did to each other, and it was downright painful trying to accept what adults did to children. But for a mother to do what Helaire had done to Alicia....

No one would have been surprised if Jim had returned with Helaire's body that night outside New Orleans. She had been a fleeing felon, the bayou was a dangerous place at night, etc. But Jim had not only brought her in alive, but had actually gone to considerable lengths to save her life. Why? He wasn't even sure if Jim knew the answer to that, especially after Helaire had convinced Satan to let loose his demons and go after Jim's soul. But the Sentinel's soul had been a better fighter than Helaire thought, and when she failed to deliver what she promised, she had died.

"Hello, Helaire," Jim said politely, kneeling beside the figure. "How's tricks?"

Brown eyes glittered furiously out of the tar-encrusted face. After spitting out a mouthful of black goo, Helaire spoke. "Is not my torment great enough? Is it not just that I am here in this burning mire that sears my skin, and fills my nostrils and lungs? Do I not suffer enough? Or is this my final torment? That I be delivered unto you, L'Ange, to be the doomed mouse to your cat?"

"Meow," Jim replied, leaning heavily on the sword. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm not here to interfere with your eternity yet. I was just passing through and thought it would be terribly rude of me not to stop and speak. I'm sorta surprised to see you here with all the ordinary criminals. Thought you'd be demonized by now. Guess your boss is still a little pissed about not adding my soul to his collection, eh?"

" _Fils de putain_!"

"Ah, _ma 'tite belle_ , it sounds as if you've missed me," Jim crooned in the peculiar French accent unique to southern Louisiana. He chuckled and blew her a kiss. " _Mais non, cher_. What we have, what we share, _c'est ein affaire a pus finir_. We will never be finished," he pronounced, making it sound like a blessing rather than the curse it really was.

Blair swore he saw her pale beneath the tar, but before he could make sure, he heard a voice behind him.

"Who am I?" it singsonged. "Who am I now? Am I you? Am I Blair Sandburg? I can be you. I can be you. I _am_ you!"

He turned slowly to see that one of the shades had approached the bank, unstopped by the centaurs who had backed away due to Jim's presence. He couldn't see the man beneath the sludge covering him, but he recognized the voice...and the eyes. The eyes which had bore into him as the serial killer got right up into his face when he was chained to that dentist's chair.

Lash. 

Being in an explosives-rigged elevator had been pretty bad, and being chased through the woods like a bad scene in Deliverance hadn't been much fun either. And no, he didn't even want to discuss what it had been like to watch the Fire People come for him-- and he especially did not want to think about that while here in the middle of Hell. But nothing in his previous experience, nothing in all the experiences that followed, scared him as much as being in Lash's clutches-- trapped in a world consisting of remnants of the lives the psychopath had stolen, so sure his own belongings would soon drape the nearby wall, so certain that he would be found with a yellow scarf tied daintily around his neck while water filled his lungs. Lash was the embodiment of nightmares past, present, and future. No! He couldn't deal with this. He _wouldn't_ deal with this.

Before he knew what he was doing-- certainly before Jim knew what he was doing-- Blair grabbed the sword, viciously ripping it from Helaire's hand and striking out at Lash. The double-handed swing was powerful, it's aim true. The head, which had been grinning at him, sailed for yards before landing with a soft plopping sound. The weight of it wasn't sufficient enough for it to sink immediately into the thick, creamy tar, so it bobbled there for long moments, and out of the corner of his eye, Blair watched Lash's body drift away in search of its missing part.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder, and another removed the sword from his grip. He glanced up into searching blue eyes. "That was-- liberating," he said, after searching his soul for the correct description. "Sorry about not asking," he added, indicating the sword, and wondering if touching it had been taboo.

"That's okay, Chief. What's mine is yours," Jim said solemnly. Then he grinned. "'One, two! One, two! And through and through/ The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!/ He left it dead, and with its head/ He went galumphing back.'"

Blair laughed. "Lewis Carroll's _Jabberwocky_. Don't tell me-- more extra credit."

"Nah. More like an alternative to detention."

"Detention? Jim Ellison? Get out of town! What'dya do, man? Get caught smoking in the Boy's Room? Necking under the bleachers in the gym? Beating up the bully on the playground? What?" Blair asked in fascination. He'd always figured Jim was the saintly type in school.

"I started a food fight in the cafeteria."

"No way! Why?"

Jim shrugged. "The day was boring and the food was bad."

Blair's jaw dropped in shock and awe. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you had it in you, Jim. But memorizing _Jabberwocky_ seems like a light sentence. What did you do? Bat those baby blues of yours at the principal?"

The Sentinel laughed. "I don't think that would've worked on Mr. Hillinger."

Blair made a choking sound. "I wouldn't bet your lunch money on that, pal. That even works on Simon."

"Are we talking about me, or you?"

"Definitely you, man. The whole unit is scared of you. Your glare makes everyone tremble, but when you smile, and gaze ever so sweetly, that's when they know a sacrifice is coming-- whether it be money to your favorite charity, a switch in days off, tickets to a game, etc."

"And does this fantasy world of yours have a name?" Jim asked, shaking his head at his partner's foolish notions.

"Yeah, Jim-- reality."

"I think the power of your liberation has gone to your head."

"I'm not the one quoting _Jabberwocky_. How does that start again? Twas something or other, right?"

"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves...."

Blair smiled as Jim continued the recitation, and felt a peace descend upon his soul-- a peace lost in a moment of terror three years ago, now regained in an act of impulsiveness, and secured by the calm understanding of a _Jabberwocky_ -quoting friend.

Yeah, he might be in Hell. But at the moment, life was good.

*****

"It's been twenty-four hours. Is that good or bad?"

Simon shrugged at Micki's question. There had been no time limits discussed, no "when to call in heavy backup like paramedics and/or priests" instructions left beside the phone. Damn. They had gone into this unprepared, hadn't they? But if something went wrong that Jim couldn't handle, it was pretty much a given an ordinary priest wouldn't be able to help. An ordinary priest. Shit! This was getting out of hand. What the hell was his friend, and why was he, average Joe Cop, involved in all this crap? He'd lied to Blair earlier, when the anthropologist had asked if what Jim did made his skin crawl. Yes. What Jim could do scared him. What Jim _was_ scared him. Saint, Warrior, Sentinel-- all of it scared him. Because it made him believe in stuff he didn't believe in anymore. It made him have hope-- for the future, for his son. Amid all the ugliness he dealt with day after day, there was Jim. And Blair. Perhaps he would have been strong enough to ignore Jim and the lure of what he was, if it hadn't been for Blair and his apparent, easy faith in the man. Surely, if it was so easy for Sandburg, then.... What a potent one-two punch. If you weren't drawn to Jim, you were drawn to Blair, and being drawn to either of them, drew you to both. 

And now, they were together in Hell. 

Satan didn't stand a fucking chance.

Micki and Jack looked at the captain with concern as the big man burst out laughing. No explanation was forthcoming, but when the man settled back to continue his watch, he looked infinitely more confident of the outcome. In reflection of that, they, too, relaxed... and waited.

Chapter Twenty-One

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Deep breaths, Chief," Jim coached, grateful that Blair did not have his Sentinel sight-- sight which captured every crimson detail of the carnage below them. The scene looked as if it belonged in the past; some ancient battlefield where warriors on one side sought to destroy their opponents by sheer blood loss alone. But there were no sides in this battle, and that was exactly why the destruction was so encompassing.

"This is the Ninth and final Circle of Hell. Abattoir Valley. It is reserved for the greatest of sinners: those Guilty of Treachery," Jim said, rubbing light circles on Blair's back to ease the nausea. Not that a little vomit would be noticed in the ever-present stench of the realm, but since there was no nearby potable water, Blair would just end up suffering more.

"Why is treachery the greatest sin? Why not murder?" Blair asked, concentrating on Jim's hand and the discussion, instead of the action below the small rise they were on. Each shade in Circle Nine had been armed with a dagger, and these daggers were constantly being plunged into another's back, front, side, throat.... Blood flowed freely and in great abundance.

"There are degrees of murder. It can be done in the heat of the moment or it can be long-planned. It can be a 'cold' crime-- perpetrated against a stranger, without emotion. Treachery-- betrayal-- is by default a 'hot' crime. There is no such thing as betrayal without malice and forethought. It is always personal because it is a violation of a covenant, a sacred trust whether to country, comrade, or loved one."

Blair didn't comment, because he knew Jim spoke from experience. His friend's past was littered with betrayals, which made the fact that he had actually gained Jim's trust even that much more special. He leaned into the hand on his back deliberately, reminding Jim that the trust went both ways.

"If treachery is always personal, are all these shades personally connected?" he asked in confusion.

"Look closely, beyond the blood, Chief. The violence appears to be random, but it's not. There are groups, couples, stabbing each other repeatedly, but leaving the others around them alone."

Blair saw that Jim was right. The shades were spilling the blood of the people nearest to them-- probably co-conspirators and partners in crime.

"Look to your left. Do you see them?" Jim asked, his body tensing.

Blair followed his gaze to the couple wielding their knives. Ray Aldo and Veronica Archer. The Internal Affairs detective had betrayed his oath and a fellow officer when he had linked up with Veronica to destroy Jim. Rat bastard. And Veronica...Veronica had made an art out of betraying the men in her life. She'd set her husband up to be killed, set Jim up as the killer, set Aldo up to kill Jim, then had probably intended to kill Aldo and blame Jim for it. _What a sick little perfectionist._

"Bitch," Blair growled.

"Which one?"

Blair turned, saw Jim's wicked smirk, and lost it. It was so true. If anyone had the balls in that sick relationship, it had been Veronica; Aldo had danced to her tune up until the moment he died. But that wasn't the only reason why he was laughing. He was laughing because he liked a wicked Jim. It wasn't that his roommate was perfect-- far from it in fact. Most of the time he was...too: too anal, too straight-laced, too judgmental, too stubborn, too close-minded...well, you got the picture. But when he actually relaxed enough to get...catty, Blair got glimpses of what Jim could have been-- possibly _would_ have been-- without the pain of his past weighing on his shoulders. More carefree, more smiling, more willing to indulge himself rather than others. Not that helping others wasn't a good thing, but this was the man who let ghosts use him to keep away the boogeyman.

As Blair struggled to get his laughter under control, he noticed Jim was also doubled over with guffaws, and for some reason, that bothered him. "Jim? We didn't inadvertently huff the tar back in Circle Eight, did we?" he asked, adjusting as a stitch caught him in the side.

Jim wiped his eyes and gathered himself. "No, Chief. We're fine. I think our minds are just trying to prepare themselves."

"For?"

"For what is to come."

Well, that sounded rather dire. Then Blair remembered that the bloody scene in front of them-- damn, how could they be laughing-- was the Ninth Circle, the last one before the Pit of Hell and its inhabitant-- Satan. "He will attack."

"Yes-- our minds first." Jim motioned that it was time for them to go. "No time for thought, Chief. What is your greatest fear?"

"Moving."

Jim frowned. How could a guy who had moved as much as.... It came to him much as the other information he'd been receiving, but from within this time, instead of without. It wasn't the actual packing up that Blair feared-- it was leaving, maybe even the stuff and people that would inevitably be left behind. "Fuck," he said as he was hit with another realization. "I kicked you out of the loft when Alex.... I made you move."

"Yes," Blair said solemnly.

"And I hurt you more than Alex ever did."

Blair watched as his left foot followed his right one. Left. Right. Left. Right. "There is that," he finally admitted.

"Fuck."

A small smile. "You're starting to repeat yourself."

"It's a good word. Sums up exactly how I feel."

"You've always been a man who preferred precise to verbose."

"I don't know what kind of man I am. I didn't think I was the type to torture his friends with their own fears, but I did. I didn't think I had the capacity to be that cruel-- No, I take that back. I knew I had the capacity, I just thought I was a better person than that. I guess I was wrong."

"You didn't know."

Jim shook his head. "Ignorance isn't an excuse. Neither is the distraction of the dreams. I should have known.... For all the good it does, I'm deeply sorry, Chief."

Blair shrugged. "I accepted your apology when I moved back in. Besides, it wasn't all your fault."

"I can't always hide behind Alex and all that craziness--"

"I'm not talking about Alex. I'm talking about me, and who I am."

Jim couldn't let that one go. He stopped, and made sure Blair did the same by snagging his arm. "What does that mean?"

"Jim," Blair protested weakly.

"No, Chief. It will be used against us otherwise."

Blair sighed knowing Jim was right. "Naomi and I always seem to wear out our welcome eventually."

Jim closed his eyes. "Have I ever kicked Naomi out?"

"No."

"Not even when she moved the furniture, burned sage, brought a tagalong psychic, and/or popped in unexpectedly?"

"No."

"Do you know why I've never kicked her out, why I never will?"

Silence. Then a heavily breathed, "Why?"

"Because her son is my partner, my anchor when the seas get choppy, my rock when I'm up to my neck in sand," Jim said earnestly. "I try not to repeat my mistakes, Blair, and believe me, moving you out of the loft was my biggest mistake, and my biggest regret.... I wish I could say that it wouldn't happen ever again, but--"

"But?" Blair urged hesitantly.

"Sometimes I can get stupid if I'm left on my own for too long. I might one day, in a fit of extreme insanity, kick you out again. It probably won't even be because of something you've done."

"Okay," Blair sighed. "Can't say you aren't giving me fair warning," he added, grudgingly.

"Not just a warning, but an edict."

"Which is?"

"If I ever try that shit again, you are to kick my ass, and 'just say no'."

Blair gave a wry grin. "Me? Kick your ass? Right, man."

Jim gave him a singular hard stare. "You know my weaknesses better than I do, Chief. Kicking my ass is only one of the things you could do to me." _Totally destroy me is another._

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why let yourself be so vulnerable to me? Despite all the begging and pleading, I never really expected that you'd let me stay with you. It was pretty easy to tell that you enjoyed your personal space-- all one hundred yards around you. You know, even when you condescended to cleaning out your spare room for me, I never thought I'd actually...."

" _Move_ in?" Jim completed. "Was there fear in that move too, Chief?"

"Fear isn't the word, Jim. Try terrified or petrified," Blair said, with a chuckle that bordered on being a sob. "The risk was obvious, even back then."

"Risk?"

"That my next move would utterly devastate me."

So much admitted in that statement. Jim felt himself humbled, and a little terrified himself. Blair had become equally as important to him. "Moving on will always be your decision, Blair. Just like when you were planning to go to Borneo."

The younger man gave a sad laugh. "Borneo was supposed to be my salvation-- my one shot at saving myself. It was early in our relationship. I thought moving then would be easier than moving later. I thought wrong."

"I'm sorry about your fear, but not about you staying."

Blair nodded, wanting to believe, but still wary. "You never answered my question of why, Jim. Why give me so much power?"

The cop shrugged, not comfortable with the question, but understanding why Blair needed the answer, and why it had to be answered now-- before Satan could take it and contort it at will. "I don't think you ever realized just how close I was to-- to finding my own solution to my problems when you showed up in that examination room."

"You wouldn't have committed suicide," Blair said firmly.

"I'm a cop, Chief. There are more subtle ways than eating my gun, that would render the same desired results."

Blair blanched, imagining Jim playing the hero a little too aggressively, or protecting an innocent using himself as a shield, and ultimately as a target. Still.... "I have trouble seeing you giving up that easily."

Another shrug. "Maybe I had the same trouble. Maybe that's why, when you demanded, I let my guard down. I did a lot of token screaming and kicking, but you saw straight through it."

" _I_ demanded?"

"Yes. All those 'you can do's' were demands you made. When I obeyed, I was rewarded; when I didn't, I was punished."

"I never punished you," Blair argued.

"No, but the world did. Working _with_ you kept me, and the others around me, safe. Disobeying you led to pain and danger. You saved me; my soul seemed like ample payment."

Blair swallowed hard. "And now...are you still paying off that debt?"

"No," Jim said with a faint smile. "I'm vulnerable to you now because I want to be...because I can be."

Blair was silent, taking the tribute to his heart. "What is _your_ greatest fear, Jim?" he asked a few minutes later.

"Being betrayed by the ones I love."

His friend quirked an eyebrow. "Didn't have to stop and think about it, huh?"

"It's an old fear, one I'm quite comfortable with."

"Am I counted among that number?"

"Which part? As someone I love? Sure. As someone who will betray me?" Jim looked away, unwilling to see the hurt in Blair's eyes. "I'm sorry, Chief, but thirty years of learned behavior is not going to disappear in three."

"Is there any way I can assure you that it won't happen?" Blair asked softly.

"Yeah. Don't betray me." He tried to sound flip, but it came out more as a plea.

"I'll do my best," Blair vowed. His eyes searched his friend's. "How can you function like that, Jim? I wouldn't exactly call you outgoing, but you're not a hermit or a recluse by any stretch of the imagination. You have friends. You had a wife. How can you let people get so close? Why hasn't your fear crippled you? How can you be that strong?"

"So says the man who was brave enough to move into the loft despite the risk, then do it for a second time. If you want to compare strength, Chief, I'm game, and so are you."

Blair's mouth quirked at the corner. "I used to mock those trite sayings like, 'men of destiny'. However, I'm starting to believe I shouldn't have."

Invisible fingers danced along the Sentinel's spine. "No, you shouldn't have, Chief. Because I think in the end, destiny will have the last laugh."

*****

Simon sighed and clicked off the phone. He always felt so conflicted when he talked with his mother. He could tell from minute changes in her speech, in the way she breathed, that she was getting older, and he knew with certainty that he should spend more time with her. But he had responsibilities here in Cascade. He was an important police captain, and damn proud of it. The job didn't give him much free time, and what he did have, was spent with his son...and his friends. This Watcher business was turning out to be time-consuming, but important-- even more important than being a cop.

Jack and Micki had asked if the supernatural interfered with their jobs. The answer was a resounding yes. He had compromised his oath too many times to count. From Blair's unlimited access to crime scenes and police records, to that damned convenient suicide which wrapped up the Lilith murders, Simon had crossed the line over and over again. And it wasn't just him alone; his officers had followed him into these violations. Reports had been fudged, evidence overlooked because it couldn't be explained, and now-- when they should be enjoying a weekend off-- they were out there, blindly and selflessly standing guard. Was it just plain, ordinary loyalty that made them do this, or was it some ancient force, some tickle in their conscience or their souls which urged them to help Jim and Blair? He shivered at the thought.

"Everything okay, Simon?" Jack asked anxiously, noting the captain's involuntary shudder as he joined him on the balcony.

"It's fine. Just got lost in my thoughts," Simon explained, embarrassed by his drifting. "You need anything?"

"Just wanted you to know lunch is ready." Micki had insisted on cooking.

Simon nodded and followed the older man inside.

"You would think," Jack began, "that after all the times I've watched my own friends get sucked into the supernatural, it would get to be routine. But it never is."

"You seem quite paternal toward Micki. Is it that way with Dallion and the other guy, too?"

Jack smiled. "Ryan was-- is-- like a son to me. So youthful, so quick to head into danger just because it was the right thing to do. We respected each other, loved each other. That's not to say we didn't have differences of opinions-- loud, vocal differences. He was a bit too juvenile for his age, had little control around women-- fell too easily, and too fast.... I don't know, maybe some of that had to do with Micki, and trying to impress her...or maybe sublimation," he added with a fond smile. "If Jim does manage to bring him back, that part of his return should be interesting.

"As for Johnny, he was a friend of Ryan's who got caught up in one of our messier retrievals. When we lost Ryan, it only made sense that he took his place. But Johnny lacks Ryan's intelligence and understanding of what we're doing. He's been known to use the objects themselves to get himself out of sticky situations. We've all been tempted to do so at one time or another, and Ryan and I both did it when we used the coin to restore Micki's life-- even though we could rationalize it as just undoing what the coin had already done. But I'm not sure Johnny gets the concept of rationalization." Jack bit his lip. "That wasn't a nice thing to say, was it?"

"It's okay," Simon said. "I understand. I work all my detectives equally hard, and I appreciate their work, but there is a team I prefer." He looked at the pair beneath the protective bubble. "One I prefer very much."

Jack nodded. "That's what I want; my preferred team back together."

"May we all get what we want, my friend," Simon whispered. "May we all get what we want."

Chapter Twenty-Two

"I feel it," Blair said wonderingly. "Evil. I thought.... It's Hell, you know. But this is the first time I've felt it."

"That's because all of the evil generated here and on earth is funneled to this point, to the lord and master of this realm," Jim explained, as they approached what looked to be a large crater. "It feeds and strengthens him." He reached out to his partner as they reached the rim of the concave depression known as the Pit of Hell.

Blair was grateful for Jim's hand on his arm-- grateful because its strength countered his fear of heights, and its warmth countered the chill of evil that wafted from the site. They were so far away from the bottom, that nothing came in clearly. "So, is Ryan Dallion below? Can you sense him?"

"Yes, he's there," Jim replied distractedly, setting off alarms in Blair's head.

"But?" the anthropologist asked quickly.

"There are three of them."

"Three who?"

"Un-judged and unwilling souls."

Damn. Should have known this wasn't going to be easy. "Will you be able to tell which one is Dallion's?"

Jim nodded.

Blair closed his eyes and sighed. "But it doesn't matter, does it?"

"I can't--"

"You _won't_ ," came the correction. "And, no, you don't have to explain. You could no more leave the two unexpected souls behind than you could leave me."

Jim looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Chief." The difficulty of this retrieval had just increased.

"Don't be. You are who you are, Jim Ellison. So, how do we get down there?"

The Sentinel pointed to a stairway carved into the side of the crater. "A thousand and one steps."

"He really likes his privacy, huh?" Blair joked nervously. Jim's hand clamped tightly around his arm, and he looked around in surprise. "What's--"

"Down!"

If riding with Jim had taught Blair anything, it was that when Jim gave an order like that, it was best to do _now_ and consider why _later_. As he dropped to the rocky ground, he sensed something coming to hover above them. The shadow it cast made him uneasy, and every hair on his body stood on end. Being who and what he was-- anthropologist, observer, student-- intellectual and morbid curiosity made him glance up, and with a sinking feeling he realized he'd never give into his curiosity so easily again. Above him was this...this...dark... _thing_. That was as specific as he could get, considering he was trying to describe something that defied description.

His extensive training as a student kicked in. If something existed, then it could be explained in five hundred words or less, right? Fine. The thing was a wide rip, a jagged edged tear in what? Maybe in the fabric that was this universe? Anyway, it undulated overhead, resembling-- too much so, for Blair's comfort-- a gaping maw, a toothy mouth that on earth probably would have been dripping blood, but here, it only dripped...darkness. Although the darkness was complete, he could sense that there was movement on the other side of that rip and if he focused, he could swear he could hear cries of terror, and moans of pain.

He held his breath until the mouth closed, winking out of existence as quickly as it had appeared. When he got the hang of breathing again, he rolled over to face Jim. "What. The. Fuck. Was. That?"

Jim, shaken far more than Blair because he'd actually _seen_ into the thing, was slow to reply. "That was the Void-- final stop for those who are Guilty of Betraying the Light," he finally whispered raggedly. 

"I thought Hell only had nine Circles."

"It's not exactly part of Hell; it's not part of _anything_ ," Jim explained, glad that he could no longer feel the Void. It had made him queasy and terribly frightened.

"Oh, man. I have no intention of ever ending up there."

"You won't," Jim said with confidence. He climbed to his feet and stretched out a hand to Blair. "Let's get this over with. I'm getting tired of this place."

"You won't hear me complaining when we see the EXIT sign," Blair agreed. 

They started down the steps, Blair slightly behind Jim-- if he tripped, a nice, warm body would keep him from tumbling down the rest of the way. Comforted by the thought, he let his mind wander to other problems. Like.... "Does _he_ know we're coming?"

"Yes." Jim knew Blair was talking about Satan.

"But you have a plan?" Of course he did, Jim always had a plan.

A tell-tale shrug. Good ol' predictable Jim. "It's just the beginning of one, Chief, but it requires a lot on your part."

What was this? Jim was worried he couldn't hold up his end of the scheme the Warrior had come up with? That was insulting...and it hurt. "Maybe you should have brought Micki with you, after all." _Maybe you would feel more comfortable relying on the power of a witch._

The older man frowned. "Wouldn't even be considering this if she was here. You're the only one I trust enough to make this work."

Blair cut his eyes toward his friend, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. Jim trusted him, but he was afraid to ask him to shoulder his share of the plan? What the hell did Jim think was too much for him to handle? Uh oh. He didn't think he was going to like this plan at all. "What is it exactly that you want me to do?"

"Lead the souls out of Hell."

"While you--?"

"Run interference."

"From the front?" Like a blocker in football.

"From the rear."

Like a sacrificial lamb. "You're right," Blair said flatly. "It does require a lot on my part. Too much, if you think I'm going to run off and leave you to fight Satan alone."

"I'm the most qualified to fight him," Jim argued.

"I agree. But if you think that little piece of logic is going to change my mind--"

"They deserve to be free, Chief. Those three souls have done nothing to deserve this. Have you noticed they were not in the nine Circles? Why? Because they have not been judged; they do not belong. He keeps them imprisoned in the Pit for his own amusement. That cannot be allowed to continue!"

"Whoa, man," Blair said, tugging on Jim's arm until he stopped marching down the stairs. "You sound pretty adamant about this. Just how determined are you?"

"I'll do whatever's necessary to make sure the three souls are free."

"Why? If Heaven was content to leave them here--"

"Heaven has a contract with Hell; I don't. One of the side effects of being a mortal."

"And another side effect is that you can die," Blair reminded the stubborn man.

"That's why I need you to get them out of here as soon as possible." Blair started to shake his head, but Jim grabbed his shoulder. "You are the only person I trust to do this, Chief; to see that the mission is completed regardless of my fate."

"I happen to care about your fate, Jim."

"I know, and I swear to you, Blair, that I will do my damnedest to make it out of here alive. It will be easier to do that if I'm not worrying about you and the three shades."

"You're not playing fair, man," Blair muttered as they continued their downward path.

"No, I'm not playing fair; I'm playing to win."

"And to live?"

"Yes. And to live."

"You die on me and I swear Hell will be the least of your problems," Blair threatened grudgingly.

"I hear you, Chief."

*****

"You don't want any more, Simon?"

He eyed the remains of the chicken distastefully and shook his head. It wasn't so much that he didn't like chicken, and it was really nice of the guys to get it for them. But it just reminded Simon too much of a funeral ritual, where family and friends dropped off gifts of food to those who were grieving, and although Jim and Blair might be as quiet as corpses, they weren't dead yet. "I'm fine, Micki. The inactivity of the day has affected my appetite, I suppose."

"Waiting is always nerve-wracking. It seems like every important occult day of the year, I'm waiting for someone or something," Jack said. "Usually Lewis."

Simon frowned. " _The_ Lewis? I thought he was long dead."

"That's never stopped Uncle Lewis," Micki said, surprised she could smile when she said it.

Jack laughed at the horrified look on Simon's face. "Apparently you haven't worked with the occult long enough, Captain."

"I'm sure Jim and Blair will correct that oversight eventually," Simon replied, with sinking certainty. His eyes drifted over to his "here, but not here" friends. "They're close," he whispered.

"What?"

Simon blinked, a shiver coursing down his spine. "They're close to...something."

"Finding Ryan? Coming back?" Micki asked excitedly.

The tall man shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel...anticipation coming from them."

"So, you _are_ linked to them?" Jack asked. He'd thought so, but he was having trouble grasping the nuances of the relationship between the three. He was sure there was more going on here than Jim's "sainthood" or whatever it was. The wildcards in this deck were numerous.

"Linked?" Simon shrugged. "That sounds rather permanent. It's more of a instance by instance type deal. I-- _know_ what I need to know _when_ I need to know."

"And this has been happening ever since Jim was _called_?"

"Something like that," the captain replied vaguely. Actually, the link was more a part of being the Sentinel's Watcher than the Warrior's Companion. How he knew the difference was something he didn't want to think about.

Jack's eyes narrowed, disassembling Simon's careful answer. What was the man hiding...and did he truly want to know?

*****

Tony Bozeman looked around the empty apartment and sighed. Things were not going as well as he would have liked. Although he'd known the men he'd sent earlier had been run off by Captain Banks, he'd had no idea that the loft was under twenty-four hour police surveillance. How had Banks managed that? Or had he? Maybe this wasn't police surveillance. Maybe Ellison had already started choosing his disciples. If that was the case, then things were progressing ahead of schedule. Good thing he'd already taken a lease on an apartment that faced 852 Prospect.

Actually, it really didn't face Ellison's loft, but with an elaborate arrangement of mirrors and cameras, he figured he could get a decent view of what was happening inside-- when the blinds were open. Not the best conditions, but not the worst either. He remembered how stupid he'd been, not looking around the loft when he'd had the chance. No, he'd invited Jim out into the hallway to ask him to come with him, to be a psychic. Damn. How could he have been so naive to think the man was a mere psi reader? It had taken the experience in Baltimore to show him Ellison's true nature.

Well, no use in concentrating on old failures. It was time to start documenting what was happening. There were members of the Group who didn't believe, who refused to see until proof was thrust upon them. They thought he was insane-- just like the fools at the Bureau. No wonder the country was as poorly defended as it was. Her defenders had no vision.

Good thing he was around; he had vision enough for everyone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"I can't see."

Jim frowned and turned to the man on the step behind him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't see, Jim," Blair said, panic giving his voice an edge. "It's like I'm back in that fucking forest, man."

Jim immediately reached out for him. "It's okay, Chief. I got you."

"And--and you can see?"

"Yeah. Tell me what happened."

"I took a step, then nothing. Wait a minute. Help me go back up." Jim's arm kept him balanced. Then he let it go in relief. "I can see again."

"Wait a minute. You mean you lose your sight depending on what step you're on?" Jim asked in consternation.

Blair nodded. "It makes sense if you think about it. This is it for me, as far as I can go. Whatever is beyond that step, is not for me to see."

"But--"

"There are no _buts_ , Jim. In fact, it couldn't be any clearer. I should have figured it out earlier. Look out and tell me what you see-- without enhancing your sight."

"Uhm, I see the steps disappearing into some kind of mist or fog. If I--"

Blair grabbed his hand before he could shift his vision."Wanna know what I see? The same indistinct features I saw at the top of the stairs. The view never changed." He looked at Jim and smiled. "Guess it was taking me too long to catch the clue."

"So, what happens now?"

"You go on...and I wait here."

"This doesn't seem right. I thought this was a shared figment."

"It was. But this is where my imagination stops."

"And mine goes on? You've always been the creative one, not me."

"And you're the one who's seen an archangel, Jim," Blair said softly. "The rest of the journey is yours alone. I don't like it, but I'm not the one in charge of these things."

"I'm not, either."

Blair patted Jim's arm. "No, you're not," he said meaningfully.

Jim took a deep breath, then nodded. _Guess it's time to take advantage of that faith everyone thinks I'm capable of._ "I'll send them up to you. Then--"

"Then I lead them out. I'll hold up my end of the plan, Jim. You be sure to do the same," Blair warned.

"I will, Chief."

Blair watched his friend take a step, then disappear from sight-- no, from _his_ sight. Damn. He hadn't counted on this happening. He figured he'd be by Jim's side when the shades were freed, and he'd be able to convince Jim it was better if they stayed together. Now, Jim would send the shades up to him, and his partner would be counting on him to get them out. While he stayed behind and-- and what? Hell, he wouldn't even be able to see what Jim was doing, how Jim was battling Satan....

And maybe that was the point of all this. Maybe that was a battle he wasn't supposed to see. Maybe Satan was an entity he wasn't supposed to see. The sight would probably fry his mind, leave him spouting gibberish and bouncing off of padded walls. Jim had seen ghosts, demons, and archangels. Aside from a few nightmares-- which probably had very little to do with his recent experiences-- he had suffered no lingering effects from his supernatural activities; seeing Satan wouldn't damage his psyche at all. _Dealing_ with Satan, however.... Jim's mind was strong and quick. He'd argued with Michael on more than one occasion, and won, right? There was no way Satan would whup his ass in a mental fight. So, that meant the battle would be taken to the physical level-- and Jim, regardless of everything else he was, was still just a mortal....

Closing his eyes, Blair said the simplest prayer he knew, "God be with you, Jim."

*****

Jim didn't like it. He didn't like that Blair could go no further. He didn't like leaving him behind. He didn't like that he was planning to send the three shades up to him, and Blair would lead them out; not that he was worried Blair couldn't do it, but that he was Blair's only safety net...and he could possibly fail. So, no, he wasn't liking anything at the moment, and guess what? That didn't change a fucking thing.

He finally reached the bottom and stepped into the waiting haze. The mist clung to him like day-old perspiration and his body shuddered in distaste. He turned back to look at Blair once more and noticed that his partner had moved back a couple of steps. He was sitting, his back straight, his eyes scanning that which he could not see. Now that, Jim thought emphatically, was faith-- because Blair knew his faults more intimately than anyone else in the world, yet still waited for him with patience, confidence, and the full belief that he would do what he set out to do. _May your faith be rewarded, my friend._

Jim turned away and surveyed his surroundings a bit more closely. Murky was a good description, he thought morosely. Dreary, dismal, dank, and gloomy worked as well. He sensed a gathering, a coalescing of the shadows on his right, and he turned, reflexively raising his sword.

"I am Lucifer," a voice called from the loosely formed mass. "I was the Archangel of Light and shall reign again."

"I am Beelzebub." Jim's head jerked to his left where another dark form stood. "The Prince of Devils. My power is and shall ever be."

"I am Apollyon, Guardian of the Pit of Hell." Jim turned much slower this time, not as stunned by the appearance of a third manifestation. "This is my realm and I lay claim to all that is in it."

The three floated closer together. "We are Satan," they chorused. "Welcome, Warrior of Michael and Sentinel of Cascade."

Instinctively, those fingers of Jim's which were not clasped tightly around the hilt of the sword began tapping on an invisible remote control, looking for a "channel" that would provide him with the clarity he desperately needed. Seconds later, he found it, and with a sardonic smile, he turned toward the place where the real power resided. "Is this the part where Toto tears away the curtain?"

An earthshaking laugh was the reply. Then the mist melted away, leaving just ordinary twilight. "You are not what I expected, tool of my brother Michael." The voice was a blend of the three separate ones.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Jim said dryly. He gazed at the red figure seated on an equally red throne before him. Hmm. He'd never imagined that Satan was red because he was mainly blood, apparently the same boiling blood that was the River Phlegethon. Curiously, he wondered if it was the river which fed Satan, or that Satan was the source of the river.

"Not a disappointment, but a delightful surprise," Satan said jovially. "My brother's taste usually leans toward the dour--"

"Monk. Yeah, I've heard."

"And his monks would have never had the balls to come here," Satan said, completing the thought Jim had interrupted. "Why are you here? Has my brother gone mad in my absence?"

"I am here for the souls you have stolen."

Laughter. Again. "Michael sent you here for these?" Satan waved his hands and three men appeared around the throne, each bound by blood-red chains. "He _has_ gone mad."

"I never said _Michael_ sent me."

Dark eyes regarded him cautiously. "The souls are mine."

"No, they are not. Not yet, anyway. They will return with me, and will then be able to choose their own path."

Satan grinned. "What is it you mortals say? Possession is nine-tenths of the law?"

Jim's countenance didn't change. "I wouldn't speak of possession if I were you, because we both know you do not have ownership of your 'realm'. You are not it's Creator; said so on the gate, you know." He did allow a small smile then.

"You forget yourself, Mortal!" Satan boomed.

"I am not the one forgetting," Jim challenged.

"Oh, but you are, dear man. You are forgetting those you are responsible for," Satan said gleefully.

Jim paled, and turned toward the step where Blair sat-- peacefully and undisturbed. Oh, shit.

_Simon!_

*****

The reports Joel had brought by when he dropped off a set of clothes for his captain earlier in the day fluttered to the floor. Simon had ignored them for most of the afternoon, but as darkness approached, he'd had to face the possibility that he would not be back at work tomorrow as he'd hoped. So, to make life easier for his stand-in, he'd decided to go over the reports, note his recommendations and suggestions, and whatever assignment changes he deemed necessary.

But all that fled his mind as he heard Jim's voice penetrate his thoughts. "Under the dome, now!" he yelled, tugging the sitting Micki, and shoving the standing Jack when neither moved fast enough.

The three of them stumbled beneath the protective dome just as the power in the loft flickered and died. 

"What the dev--" Jack began, but shut up when the balcony doors were wrenched open.

A black, shapeless blob hurled itself through the doors and toward the bubble. It hit the energy barrier with a bone-rattling thud (human bone-rattling-- it appeared to be an invertebrate). The faintly glowing latticework dimmed as the thing began to ooze across the shield. The candles flickered ominously.

Simon ran through his short list of options quickly. "Micki, Jack, over here," he barked. He sat between Jim and Blair, placing both of his hands on top of theirs. Carefully, he formed a link with both of them, not separating their grip until he knew their bond ran through him. Quickly, he instructed Jack and Micki to do the same. The dome around them flared brighter, as did the candles. 

Simon could feel the strengthening power, its electrical components causing the hairs on his arms to stick straight up. The power built to the point that the captain thought the entire room might spontaneously combust. Then, the energy drew in on itself and focused on the creeping black object. The ebony thing screamed as it was forcibly ripped away from the dome. A shaft of glowing energy held it aloft for several long seconds, then shoved it out the still open balcony doors.

The doors slammed shut, and the energy raced around the edges, sealing whatever weaknesses that remained. Then it gathered itself again and zoomed back to the dome, and was absorbed into the multi-colored lines.

Simon gave a deep sigh, but didn't relax his grip.

"Captain?" Jack questioned, almost demandingly.

"I'm not certain what that was all about," Simon replied slowly, "but knowing my detective as well as I do, I think Jim managed to piss off the Devil, and that was the Devil's reply." They stared at him with dropped jaws. "And since Jim has such a talent for that sort of thing, I suggest we stay right where we are for the rest of the night."

No one disagreed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Simon's relief flooded through Jim, and he grinned, knowing that everyone in the loft was safe. _Strike one, Satan_. "We were discussing returning certain items to their proper owner?" he said, hiding his relief behind smugness. He glanced at the three shades, and noticed their attention was now totally focused on him. Good. That would help eventually.

Eyes narrowed shrewdly as they looked at him. "You are more than you seem, Mortal. But I see your weakness."

Jim shrugged. "Never said I didn't have any."

"You rely far too heavily on your cohorts. In the end, they will betray you. They always do."

"Yeah, well, shit happens," Jim snorted, dismissing the dire notion.

"The man on the steps. You trust him, don't you? But he hides vital information from you."

"We all have our secrets."

"But this involves you. He's finished his dissertation, but he didn't bother to tell you. Want to know why? Because it's not about you. You weren't a fit subject, so he moved on to something that was. How does it feel to be such a big freak that even a geek wouldn't write about you? Seems like even the Great Creator can fuck up, huh, freak?"

Jim took a deep breath, knowing the being was trying to yank his chain. But his eyes settled on the bound souls, and he knew he could take this-- for them. "Are we talking about your creation or mine?"

"Your so-called friend lied to you. Not only that, but he also told your other friend, and he kept it a secret too. They've decided to gang up on you. Do you know why, Jim? It's because you're too different from them, too powerful. They are nothing compared to you. That one on the steps could not even accompany you here, and as you can see, I am not really anything important."

"Now, that's a statement I can agree with." The dark eyes flared, and Jim grinned. _Score one for the mortal._

Satan tried again, wondering why he knew so little about this one. Was this not the one the little bitch Helaire and Ahriman had promised him some time ago? Ahriman usually had better info on potentials than this. How had the master demon screwed this up so badly? Damn. Good help was getting harder and harder to find. "Fine. If you don't want to talk about your friends betraying you--"

"I haven't been betrayed. Blair told me we needed to talk about the university. We just haven't had the time."

"Riiight," Satan sneered. "It takes more than a week to write a dissertation, you know."

Jim shrugged. "It's been a pretty busy year or two." Satan glared at his nonchalance, and growled warningly. Jim looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. _Strike two._

"You're rapidly losing your entertainment value," the Dark Lord said peevishly.

"Me and television. It's a pity nothing lasts," Jim replied sarcastically.

"You have that wrong, my mortal friend. I last. Pity that you won't." Satan pointed toward Jim, sending lightning from his fingertips.

Jim deflected them with his sword. "What is a pity is that you aren't living up to your reputation. Even Lilith managed to bruise me a bit," he taunted, wanting to unbalance the creature.

"What do you know of Lilith?" Satan roared, stopping his attack. Generally, he left _hate_ out of his repertoire, because the emotion could be blinding. But for Lilith, he'd always made an exception.

"We ran into each other a while back."

"And you live?"

"Guess I was a good lay." A heartbeat of silence. "Guess you weren't."

"Useless bitch!"

"Hey! Don't talk about my friends like that," Jim protested, watching Satan's reactions closely. He should have known that Lilith would be a chink in the Old One's armor. Satan had banished her from Hell because he could not handle her-- which meant she was a major failing, a demon he couldn't control. Hmm. Something else to exploit. "You know, there was nothing sweeter than her submission to me, her eagerness to obey my every will. Ah, but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Normally, he would never make suggestive comments about a person he'd been intimate with, but he knew that in her desert exile, Lilith was not only watching and approving, but also laughing.

Satan's eyes glittered with fury. "A demon tamer, are you? Let's see how well you tame these, Mortal!" He closed his eyes and began silently summoning his minions.

Jim could only guess what the crafty being was up to, but instead of worrying about it, he used the time to wield his sword, severing the chains that ensnared the three souls. They looked at the broken chains in confusion, then at their rescuer. "Come," he said gently.

He led them to the base of the steps. "A friend is waiting for you. Go to him and he will take you to safety," Jim said, prodding them up the steep stairs. When he didn't follow, they looked back worriedly. He smiled; even after years of abuse, they still retained their humanity. "Please go. I will follow shortly."

Finally, they began their climb, and he turned back to the scene before him. Satan still had his eyes closed, but his lips were moving, and Jim realized he was calling out to his legion of demons to oust his unwanted guest. Jim felt flattered that Satan was calling in his troops for just one simple mortal, but the feeling faded when he realized that in the next few seconds, he was going to be confronted by a pit-full of revenge-filled, pissed off, bone fide devil worshipers. __

_And you thought facing the Chopec on your own was daunting._

He took a position at the base of the steps. Analyzing what he'd seen earlier, he realized there were no demons in Hell; the souls in residence were already damned. No, the demons were loose in the world to corrupt the undecided, and that meant this was where they would first appear-- at Satan's side-- then spread throughout Hell. But to get to Hell-- and Blair and the three souls-- they would have to go up the stairs...and through him. 

That sounded good, but as a screeching howl signaled the arrival of the first demon, and his brethren appeared directly on his heels, Jim knew the odds were definitely against him. One mortal with one sword versus twenty vicious demons...and counting. How did he get himself into these situations? Wrong question. How did he get _out_ of them? Actually, that wasn't a difficult question to answer. Faith. He had faith in his abilities, his partner's, and in whoever/whatever guided his fate. No use in changing horses in midstream. He cleared his mind and surrendered to the force which had not only accompanied him to the Dark Realm, but had provided him with insight and direction.

The demons stood waiting to attack him and he wondered what they were waiting for. He looked at Satan, whose eyes were now opened and focused on him. Oh. The creature was waiting on his fear, his submission, right? He lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"Give over," Satan finally ordered.

_Strike three_. "Get fucked," Jim replied.

Satan waved his troops forward, and Jim raised his sword. A gentle toss sent it sailing straight up, and when it came back down, he held up his arms, his hands bent back to expose his wrists. The sharp blade sliced through his skin with minimum pain. He watched in morbid fascination as his life-force pumped out of his body. Absurdly, the thought uppermost in his mind was that Blair was not going to be pleased. Not at all.

_Have faith, Chief._

*****

Blair wrapped his arms around his stomach, holding back his fear. Something had happened back at the loft. He knew Jim had sent a message to Simon, had felt energy being drained from inside himself, and then felt relief from Jim...and Simon. The Watcher-- no, all of them-- were growing stronger. As he continued his wait, he wondered if the captain would be pleased or upset by the knowledge.

Startled, Blair gasped as three shades appeared before him. They stared at him patiently, and he got to his feet, hoping Jim would appear behind them. When his partner didn't come, he squared his shoulders, and smiled reassuringly at his charges. "Let's go, fellas," he said with feigned cheer.

He paused as they reached the top of the stairs, looking back hopefully. But all he saw was all he'd ever seen-- just a slightly out-of-focus, innocuous depression.

_Have faith, Chief._

The words warmed, and chilled, his heart. Jim was alive, but....

_Remember your promise, Jim_.

Sending out his own message, he kept up his end of the mission, leading the three escapees around Abattoir Valley, and the tar pit where the centaurs looked at them, but didn't approach. For some reason, the shades stopped when they saw Phlegethon, the River of Blood, and Blair had to prompt the shivering forms to move on. He, himself, deliberately kept his eyes cast down as they went through the Wood of the Suicides, still unsure how he felt about that. But his eyes went up as they faced the sheer cliff that would take them out of the Abyss. If they could get up it.

"Geryon?" he called hopefully.

The creature scuttled into view. "Where is the Master?" it asked.

"He's covering our escape," Blair replied, hoping the beast would understand.

"Then we must not let his efforts be in vain," it said. "Climb aboard Geryon quickly then."

Blair thanked Geryon at the top of the escarpment, and sent the beast back-- hopefully-- for Jim. Because Jim had been so adamant about remembering where the vine was located at the first steep drop, he had been particularly observant during the rest of the journey, and now easily navigated through the jungle which led to the Marsh of Styx. Phylegas let out a mournful wail when he saw them, but did not protest as they stepped into his pirogue.

Across Styx, they avoided the Burning Sands and headed into what Blair thought of as the suburbs of Dis. Just as the bright lights of the city proper came into view, the ground shook, dropping all three of them. Blair never became unconscious, but he had to shake his head to remove a few disorienting cobwebs before he looked around to try to figure out what had happened. As he looked back in the direction from where they'd just come, his eyes widened and his face paled.

A cloud of fire was rising above the spot where the Pit of Hell lay. As he watched for a few stunned seconds, he noticed that the cloud was spreading ominously, and he knew that it would eventually cover all of Hell. Which meant he had to get these shades to safety, or he would fail Jim-- Jim, whom he really didn't want to think about, because he knew that whatever had triggered the earthquake/explosion/fire cloud, Jim was directly responsible for.

"Come on," he yelled to the shades, and they picked up their pace from a slow jog to an outright run. Screams and cries tried to distract him as they went through the dark, broken city, the quake having destroyed buildings and cut power. With effort, he ignored the devastation around him, and led his group through the Gates of Dis. When he turned around to make sure the Dark Angels were not coming for them, he saw that the cloud had indeed extended and now fire was precipitating from it. _Shit._

Blair barely remembered the climb up the vine out of Nether Hell and the foolish antics of those Guilty of Crimes of Passion. He did notice that the shades in Limbo were nowhere to be seen, and he hoped they had taken shelter from the coming firestorm. He gnawed on a fingernail as Charon slowly paddled the boat toward them with a load of shades eager to get started with their life in Hell, and when the boat emptied, he motioned for _his_ shades to get in. Charon started to protest when he climbed in after them, but with a heated glance, Blair warned him that he was not in the mood. Tight-lipped, the old man took them across Acheron. While in the ferry, Blair looked back again and noticed the rain of fire was getting closer and closer. Wherever the fire landed, it lit and spread, and he wondered if he was going to see what the word _inferno_ truly meant.

By the time they skirted around the eternal circle of Lurkers and Bystanders, the fire had reached that far, and their cries were not because of the stinging insects, but because of the conflagration which consumed them. He goaded the shades into a mad sprint, grinning with relief as the arch loomed ahead of them. The grin faded as an ember fell from the sky and singed his arm. Just as he dove under the arch, the embers became a downpour. As he looked up from the ground, safe on the other side of Hell, he sent up a prayer to those looking after Jim.

*****

Tony Bozeman watched the streak of light banish the darkness from the loft, and felt something akin to an orgasm. No, something even more heady than that. No mere sexual act could come close to what he was feeling now that he had proof of his beliefs. It was true, all true.

With a moan of ecstasy, he fingered the remote control, and watched the tape again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jim groaned as he came to, high on the stone staircase where the explosion had thrown him. Okay, to be honest, he'd never expected what happened to happen. He'd seen what his blood had done to the Dark Angels and he'd figured more than a drop would just cause a bigger fire. He never once considered that it would be the equivalent of a megaton bomb. Distractedly, he had watched it drip from his wrists and into a dark red pool at his feet. It had massed itself into a gelled oval, with an almost shiny surface, then it had started to sink in the middle and for a moment, Jim had been reminded of his physics professor's lecture on the characteristics of a black hole: how it sucked in energy, then on occasion expelled it with a force unlike any other in the galaxy. 

Guess it was some kind of black hole, he thought as he attempted to sit up, because it had kicked ass when it let loose. His body not only hurt, but was strangely weak. _Strangely, hell. You cut your wrists, you idiot_. He looked down at the offending body parts and noted that although the cuts were visible, the blood had stopped flowing. Was that because the explosion had somehow cauterized the wounds, or had he just run dry? Well, now, if he'd run dry, he would be dead, right? God, he wasn't dead, was he? He was all for sacrifice and everything, but he really didn't want to be dead. He was finally getting the hang of doing the stuff he could do, and Blair would really be pissed at him. And to make matters really bad, if he was dead, he was in Hell, and that meant he wouldn't be able to see Alicia and the others anymore. No. No, he couldn't be dead.

Five minutes later, the pain in his head eased enough for his thoughts to clear and focus. No, he wasn't dead, but if he didn't move, he was going to be. The eerie red cloud above him didn't look too promising-- in a life-affirming way. _Well, Jim, if you're strong enough for sardonic thoughts, you're strong enough to get your ass up and moving_. He tried to stand, using the sword he'd managed to hold onto as a crutch, but after the third attempt, he settled for getting up the stairs the best way he could, which was a strange mixture of scrambling and crawling. 

At the top of the Pit, he finally managed to get to his feet and shuffled his way forward. The drops of fire began as he made his way past Abattoir Valley and he had to turn down his hearing to nearly zero when the shades started screaming as they ignited. By the time he made it to the Burning Tar Pit, there were no centaurs to be found, and the shades were like lit wicks in a giant candle, slowly incinerating into nothing. Surprisingly, he couldn't feel the drops of flame and red hot embers hitting him, and he wasn't sure whether that was because he was shielded or because he could no longer feel.

He wasn't sure of a lot of things, he realized a few minutes later-- like how he ended up on his back on the ground or when the creature Geryon had come upon him and was now calling out, "Master! Master!"

"Being the hero sucks," he told the creature, giggling as he wondered if he could get a refund for his cape. Giddiness is a sign of shock, he warned himself, as he turned over to his knees and scrambled onto Geryon's back at the beast's urging. "Blair," he said, as he struggled to control his thoughts. "Did you help Blair and the others?"

"Yes, Master. Your friend sent me back for you."

"That's nice. Blair always looks out for me. He's a good friend. So are you."

"Thank you, Master."

"Friends don't call each other master," Jim said, closing his eyes as the terrain flew by. Blood loss and a concussion. Where was Cascade General when you needed it?

"I like to call you master, Master. It is a title of respect, and I respect you."

"Why? You don't know me." _Keep talking, Jim. Keep conscious._

"I know that my Mistress Lilith loves you. I know you have come into this realm to help someone other than yourself. I know that you have defeated Satan. What else do I need to know, Master?"

"That you have my gratitude, my friend."

"Hang on, Master."

The beast ran, climbed, and swam, but Jim could feel the fires closing in on them. He kept his eyes closed. He held on.

But he really didn't think either of them was going to make it.

*****

Blair watched Hell turn to living flame and refused to grieve. Jim had promised to do his best to survive and Jim took all his promises seriously, especially the ones made to his Guide. Besides, there was no way he could get the shades back to the real world by himself. He didn't have enough power. _Your perfect plan had a flaw, Jim. Why didn't I see that before? Maybe then I could have stopped you. Nah. You would have said, "You'll figure something out, Chief." Well, I don't want to figure anything out. I want you to get here and finish this yourself._

He flicked his eyes over to where the shades crouched together. They weren't looking too great. In Hell, it had taken a slant of the head, a narrowing of the eye, to see that they weren't of mortal substance. But outside the confines of Hell, they were more ephemeral, mere tricks of light. Their existence was so thin now that he feared it didn't matter whether he could take them across planes; he wasn't sure they would last another hour. _Damn it, Jim. Get here!_

And suddenly, Jim was there, coming though the wall of flame, barely astride Geryon like a drunken horseman. Or a hurt one. "Jim!" he cried as the man slipped to the ground just on the _right_ side of the arch.

Jim blinked up at his partner and started to laugh. "Did you hear the one about the man who went to Hell and decided to redecorate?" he joked, never so glad to see anyone in his life.

"Oh, God, you hit your head again, didn't you?" Blair said worriedly, peering into Jim's eyes to check his pupils for uneven dilation.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Jim confirmed. "But I'm fine."

Blair stared at him. "Jim, you're lying on the ground, making bad jokes," he said flatly, then laughed. "Yeah, man, you're definitely ranging on normal. Glad you found the exit in time."

"Thank Geryon." He turned his head to the brown-eyed chimera. "I was pretty much useless."

"If you were useless, then I, too, was the same," Geryon replied.

Blair frowned. "What do you mean? You got him to safety."

"No. We were brought to safety. I know not how we arrived here. There was the flame, then we were here."

Two mortals shared confused glances. "I thank you, then, for not abandoning him to seek shelter for yourself," Blair continued.

"I was in the shelter of the Beloved. There was no safer place."

Lilith. Someone should give her a refresher course on how demons were supposed to act, Blair thought with a grin.

Jim sat up slowly and faced the always solemn brown eyes of the creature. "Still, for your faithfulness, you deserve a reward. What is your desire?"

"To not go back in there," Geryon replied quickly, looking at the flame. "It will rebuild."

"I know." Jim placed a hand on the turtle-like head. "Do you like children, my friend?"

"I do not know. Are they like you?"

Jim smiled. "These are."

"Then I will like them. But...but they might not like me. I am ugly."

"These children will only see your heart, and that, Geryon, is quite beautiful." Jim closed his eyes and concentrated. "Say hello to Alicia for me."

Blair watched silently as the creature shimmered, then disappeared. "You sent him to Heaven," he said softly.

"I did."

"Is that allowed?"

Jim shrugged. "You said it yourself: just because he was created by evil, does not make him so."

"Geryon said this place would rebuild."

"Yes. In a few days, maybe a week, all will be re-formed, Circles and shades alike. Hell will continue as before."

"But without Geryon."

Another shrug. "If Satan doesn't like it, he can _try_ to get him back."

Blair's eyes widened. "Are you that determined to start Armageddon?"

"No, Chief. And I'm sure this won't. Unlike Heaven, Satan doesn't have a big enough fool to challenge certain 'relocations'," Jim pointed out dryly.

"You weren't a fool, Jim. You saw a wrong and moved to correct it. That is not foolishness, but bravery."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. "Give me a hand up. We need to get out of here."

Blair reached out, then left Jim's hand hanging as he spotted the red mark on his wrist. He grabbed the other arm, noting the similar wound, as well as faint traces of dried blood. The Guide stepped back as his face changed from disbelief, to horror, and finally, to anger. "Goddamn you, Jim!" he hissed.

"It got the job done," Jim said unrepentantly.

"You promised!"

The pain in Blair's voice caused Jim to hang his head. "It was the only way, Chief. It was an acceptable risk."

"Only acceptable to you, man," Blair said softly, reaching out again to help Jim to his feet. "How did you hit your head?" he asked as his partner wobbled, then regained his balance.

"The explosion threw me against the steps."

Blair winced sympathetically. "We need to get you home, but...but I think we might be going alone. The shades are pretty ragged, Jim." His eyes barely found what was left of the trio.

"Don't worry, Chief. It's being taken care of." Jim's eyes sought the woods and smiled. "Didn't you wonder where our friends were?"

Friends? The Spirit Guides-- Jaguar, Wolf, and Cougar! Blair looked around quickly and saw them minutes after Jim did. The three animals sauntered towards them, followed by three forms. When they drew closer, Blair saw that the newcomers were the mortal casings of the three men. He shivered, not even wanting to know where the spirits had found them.

The weakening shades looked curiously at their physical selves, then stepped up to them and hesitantly flowed into the corresponding forms.

"Ready to go home, Chief?"

Blair gave a grateful smile. "Yes, Jim. Let's go home."

*****

At first, Simon thought it was just another twinge going through his abused body. He'd been sitting in the same exact spot for hours, and it had been quite a while since he'd curled up his long legs Indian-style. Sheer will had so far defeated most of the threatening cramps, but he didn't know how much longer he could last. Then he realized that what he was feeling was not a cramp at all.

"They're returning," he told his companions with relief.

"Are you sure?" Micki asked, looking at Jim and Blair but seeing no signs of reanimation.

"I'm sure," the captain said. "Just wait."

Two minutes later, Blair's eyes popped open. "Move back," he ordered sharply. 

They scooted backwards, biting back the questions they had, questions that faded as the room suddenly crowded with three extra people.

"Ryan!"

"Jim!"

The shouts tumbled over each other, and Jim felt the former shades tense. "Quiet!" he yelled. Seven pairs of eyes stared at him.

He looked at all of them and smiled. "Let me tell you about the house rules around here."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Five pairs of eyes looked at him in confusion. Two pairs just rolled in their sockets good-naturedly.

"I better make use of the facilities before you shut them down," Simon said gruffly, getting to his feet. "And no, I didn't tag the leftovers in your fridge," he muttered as he headed toward the bathroom. "You can write down the date yourself."

"A man's home is his castle, Simon," Jim called out.

"You know what you can do with your turrets, Jim," was the reply as a door slammed shut.

"I didn't even get a chance to ask him how long we were gone," Blair said in frustration.

"It's a little after 3 AM," Jack responded. "Monday."

"Monday?" Blair repeated hollowly. They had left Saturday morning. That meant they'd been gone forty-two hours, nearly two days. Shit. "Hurry out of that bathroom, Simon! There were no Rest Areas in Hell."

When Blair returned to the living room, Jim was still seated on the floor. He looked at him worriedly. "You doing okay, man?"

"Been sitting too long," he replied, accepting Blair's hand up. "Guess I'm getting too old," he added, as he regained his equilibrium.

"Too old, or," Blair said softly, running a finger across the healing cut on Jim's wrist, "too dry?"

Jim flushed. "Are we going to get into this now, Sandburg?"

"No. But we _will_ get into it at some point, Jim," he warned.

Jim sighed, not happy that it had to be discussed at all, but pleased by the reprieve. If he was merely soul-weary in Hell, he was soul-weary _and_ body-weary here in the real world. What he wanted more than anything else was to climb the stairs, drop onto his bed, and sleep for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours straight. But as life had taught him over and over again, what he wanted mattered not the least.

"Jim? Something's wrong with Ryan," Micki was saying, her voice bordering on frantic. "Something's wrong with all of them!"

Jim looked quickly to the three men. He hadn't really paid all that much attention to them. In the beginning, Satan had attracted most of his focus, then later, he'd had to concentrate on getting them back to Cascade. He recognized Ryan Dallion from Micki's memories, but the other two were mysteries. One was a young man, barely out of his teens with short, reddish blond hair, and wide, muscular shoulders. The other was probably about his own age, tall and slender, and Jim got the feeling that the man was highly intelligent. How he knew that, he didn't know, because all three men's eyes were empty, devoid of consciousness and sentience.

"Jim, Ryan was held there for ten years, and we don't know how long the others were there. Maybe--" Blair began, horrified that maybe even though they had successfully reunified body and soul, sanity was irrevocably gone. Who knew what Satan had put them through, done to them....

"No," Jim whispered, refusing to believe that he'd brought them this close, only to fail now. He placed his hand on Ryan 's face, oddly familiar because of Micki's memories, seeking his thoughts first because he knew what to look for. He smiled as he found the man's mental essence whole and intact. It just needed to be-- grounded. He took the thoughts that whooshed into his mind and placed them where they belonged. Expressive eyes met his.

"Welcome back, Ryan Dallion," he said formally. "There are two people here who are desperate to see you."

Ryan's eyes darted around the room and saw his two partners. "Micki! Jack!" He threw his arms around them, and they he, tears shared and ignored.

Jim left the threesome to their joyous reunion and reached out for the second man, the younger one. What he saw, what he read in this man's thoughts disturbed him at first, but Jim-- now used to the extraordinary becoming quite ordinary in his life-- quickly overcame his wonderment and replaced the thoughts as reverently as he'd taken them. Blue eyes blinked at him. "Richie Ryan-- live, grow stronger, fight another day," he pronounced.

"You sound like--" the young man began, and Jim nodded wordlessly. "Where am I? How long has it been?" he asked quickly.

"You're in Cascade, Richie, and it's 1999."

"I have to--"

"I know. But it's late. A few more hours won't make a difference now."

Richie nodded.

Jim turned to the third man, and these new thoughts were as improbable and as real as the previous ones. _One of these days, I'll learn not to be shocked by what this world offers._ "You took quite a leap, Dr. Sam Beckett. Welcome home."

"Home?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Dr. Beckett. Cascade, Washington, 1999, and your own body."

"Oh, boy," Sam muttered nervously. "I need to contact Al--"

Jim shook his head. "As I told Richie, a few more hours won't make a difference. We've all been under-- stress. Some downtime is in order, and your loved ones are going to be shocked, to say the least. For their sakes, for yours, I think morning will be soon enough. Chief, you want to go to the basement and get the sleeping bags? Micki, since you have the honor of being the only female, you can have the privacy of Blair's room--"

"That's where I'd already put her, Jim," Simon spoke up.

"Good man. Did you give Jack my bed? He can share it with--"

"No," Blair said.

"No what?" Jim asked, irritated by the interruption.

"You've sacrificed enough. Host or no host, _you_ are sleeping in your bed tonight."

"Sandburg, I--"

"You got to do things your way while we were in Hell, but we're not there now, are we?" Blair said stubbornly.

"I don't know what's got your boxers bunched--"

"You slit your fucking wrists, Jim! I have a right to be pissed and you know it!"

"I thought we weren't going to get into this now--"

"Let me do this the way I want to and we won't!" Blair yelled.

"Hold it!" Simon shouted. "What the hell are you two talking about?" He glared at his detective. "Jim, did you slit your wrists?"

"I had to, Simon. It was the only way. I thought it would be sort of a distraction. I didn't know it was going to cause such a major explosion--"

"Explosion? Don't tell me you blew up Hell, Jim?" Simon exclaimed.

"Well, yeah," Jim admitted sheepishly.

"Sandburg?" the captain asked, desperate for an explanation.

"As they used to say in the seventies, Captain, Jim 'burned that mother down'."

Simon shook his head. "Jim, let the kid handle the sleeping arrangements. I think you've done enough for one night."

"Fine," Jim muttered, stalking over to the balcony-- getting out of the way since obviously his presence was unnecessary.

Jack left Micki talking to Ryan and approached the tense man. "Jim, you actually blew up Hell?" he asked a little breathlessly.

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"How?"

"It seems Satan and his goons are sort of allergic to my blood."

"Oh. So that's why--?" The older man rubbed at his own wrists.

Jim shrugged. "It worked. Ryan is here, right, Jack? And so are Richie and Sam."

Jack nodded. Jim had merely done what they had asked of him-- and more. "What happens to Hell now?"

"It rebuilds."

"Will there be a retaliation attempt?"

"No time soon. Eventually, maybe. But I doubt if you have to worry any more than you already do. You're basically in the business of pissing Satan off anyway."

"What about you, Blair, and Simon?"

"Satan will lick his wounds for a while, plot a lot of nasty things in his mind, but he won't attack-- unless he's certain he can win. I don't plan on being that careless."

Jack slowly nodded. "You went for one, and came back with three."

Jim gave a small smile. "An abundance of riches."

"Were they the only three?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have left anyone behind who didn't belong," Jim said, wondering if that was what Jack was implying.

With eyes that had witnessed great evil, and a soul which had fought such evil, faltered yet still fought on, Jack assessed the man before him-- a man powerful enough to have brought about the temporary destruction of Hell, yet vulnerable enough to cautiously defend his actions-- and rediscovered the reason why he had "picked up the cross" which his old friend Lewis had inflicted upon the world. It wasn't just that he felt guilty for providing Lewis with so many of the objects. It wasn't just that Ryan and Micki had needed him. It was because along with the evil, there was good. And good deserved to be protected.

He laid a hand upon the solid shoulder of not only his fellow protector, but a prime example of good itself. "No, Jim. You wouldn't have left anyone behind. You haven't left anyone behind."

Jim looked at him curiously, wondering how the old man had stumbled upon a vague fear of his. Then he turned his attention back to the balcony.

*****

"Hey, Simon," Blair called as he sifted through the camping gear stored in the basement of the building. "Why is your sleeping bag down here?"

The captain frowned, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his bag. "Oh, remember our last fishing trip? You and Jim stumbled upon that drug operation--"

"You were there, too," Blair reminded him.

"Whatever. We just dumped everything in the truck, contacted the authorities, then somehow ended up in the middle of a shootout. By the time everyone was patched and bandaged, I guess we just never got around to sorting our gear."

"Cool. It'll come in handy. Let's see: you have your sleeping bag, Jim has his bed, and Micki's in mine. We'll put Jack on the long sofa, Richie on the shorter one, and Ryan and Sam in the other sleeping bags. That about does it, right?"

"Except for you."

Blair gave a casual shrug. "I'll bunk with Jim. There may be...nightmares."

"Yours or his?" Simon asked softly.

"Either...both. There were some intense moments, Simon, and a lot of what I saw...." His eyes gazed sadly into his friend's. "Try to live a good life, Captain. You really don't want to end up in Hell."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, man. That bad."

"And Jim's actions--"

"Jim did what he thought was necessary," Blair interrupted, realizing his earlier eruption made it sound as if Jim had been reckless. "I know that intellectually, but knowing doesn't ease the knot in my chest. He takes such huge risks for others."

"Isn't that stereotypical Jim?"

"Yes, but...."

"But?"

Blair shrugged. "I just worry that he won't give himself the same consideration."

"Would it be cold to remind you that he lived over thirty years before you met him? And in all that time, he managed to survive-- even when the odds were against him."

"But in those years, he wasn't who he is now. As he becomes _more_ ," Blair said for want of a better word, "his responsibilities become more widespread, and the risks become greater. I just don't want him to lose sight of the fact that he's just as important as the people he saves."

"Maybe there's a reason why he didn't become who he is until he met you," Simon contended.

"Because I'm his Guide?"

"And his conscience, along with nursemaid and greatest supporter. You keep him honest, Sandburg."

"Jim doesn't lie."

"Only to himself."

Blair had to nod at that. "Fine. If it's my job to keep him honest, to keep him safe, then I gladly accept it. But it's not an easy job, and on occasion I'm going to need some backup."

"I'm a cop. I carry cuffs, mace, and I'm bigger than he is."

Blair grinned. "I like your qualifications. Welcome to the team."

"I thought I was already on the team."

"Jim's team. Now, you're on mine."

"Can I withdraw my application?"

Blair chuckled evilly. "Too late for that, I'm afraid."

Simon clutched his sleeping bag and looked suitably horrified.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Simon tiptoed around the various bodies occupying the loft, gathering his files and removing any other detritus he had left laying around. He was less than looking forward to his day already; he didn't want it to end with a lecture from Jim about the sanctity of the loft. The sanctity of the loft. Why did that now have a different connotation?

"Morning, Simon."

The captain jumped back about ten feet, his latest bunch of folders sliding from his hands. "Shit, Jim," he whispered in deference to the sleeping. "You move as silently as that spirit guide of yours. Are we going to have to put a bell around your neck or something?"

Jim grinned and helped him pick up the papers. "Speaking of spirit guides, Blair and I met yours."

Simon tried to act disinterested. "How nice. Who do I have?"

"Cougar."

Since Jim knew he didn't know anything about animal spirits, he waited for his detective to elaborate. Of course, the stubborn man just handed him the now tidy folders. "Well, is that good or bad? Who is Cougar?" he finally broke down enough to ask.

"Because of the bell crack, I'm not going to tell you. Ask the internet."

"You've been around your partner too long," Simon replied with a sigh. He looked around to make sure he had everything. "I guess I'm out of here."

Jim nodded and accompanied the captain out the door. When he had discerned that the noise which had awakened him was Simon moving about, he'd carefully slipped out from beside the deeply sleeping Blair, slid into a pair of jeans and come downstairs to find his boss showered and dressed for the office. "You're going in?" Jim asked as he shut the loft door behind them.

"Yeah, so I can send Joel home. He's been playing detective and captain all weekend."

Jim nodded. "Thank them all for me. And tell H. and Rafe they can stop looking for Little Mo. His body is in a yellow refrigerator at Franklin's Salvage."

"How do you know--" Simon began, but didn't even finish the question as he hurried to add, "No, I really don't want to know."

"Little Mo told me himself," Jim replied.

"Didn't I say--" Simon fussed, then shook his head. "He tell you anything else? Like who whacked him?"

"Joey Basso. He's the new fence in Cascade, and he's also an enforcer for the Manolo Brothers."

"Gee, thanks, Jim. Now that the case is solved, I just have to go back and build one. Ever heard of crawling _before_ walking?"

"I've always been precocious, Simon," Jim said with a small chuckle. "Tell you what, I can put in a few hours today, and--"

"No. You stay here and take care of those 'refugees' you have. They are your priority for the time being." _And Sandburg will have my ass if I let you go in today._

"Okay. I don't see them hanging around for much longer. As soon as their loved ones find out they're alive, they will come for them."

"Sure. After a stop by their local shrink's office." Simon laughed. "Sorry that I woke you. Hope I didn't disturb Sandburg, too."

Jim shook his head. "It'll take a lot to get him to surface. He wore himself into quite a frazzle this weekend."

"How about you?" Simon asked meaningfully.

Blue eyes regarded brown ones with frankness. "If I let my guard down, I'd probably find myself in the middle of the mother of all frazzles. But I need to hold it together a little longer. As you pointed out, I still have my refugees to take care of." He cocked his head to one side. "And they're starting to stir."

"I'll let you get on with it, then. But, Jim, remember you're not alone in this."

"I know. Even when it seems like I _don't_ know, I do, Simon."

"Good. I'll see you later."

"You need your rest, too."

Simon shook his head and grinned. "Jim, you have an entire apartment full of people to take care of, and you still have time to worry about me? Believe me, man, you've already won your Blessed Protector gold medal."

"Maybe I'm going for platinum."

"I haven't decided whether you're going to make me gray or bald."

Jim snickered. "Go for bald, and I'll even buy you a gold hoop for your ear."

"Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum," Simon sang, completing the pirate image. "Go tend to your tribe, Sentinel."

"Take care, Watcher."

Jim let himself back into the loft, and his eyes went immediately to the lone figure on the balcony. Richie Ryan. Immortal. Damn, that was going to take some getting used to. Not the immortality part, per se, but that they walked around on earth, killing each other. Quite bizarre.

"You okay, Richie?" he asked, joining the young man outside. At least, he actually was a _young_ man. In Richie's thoughts, he'd run across someone who was five thousand years old. Jim wasn't sure whether he should envy or pity them.

"They think I'm dead," Richie replied, horror tinting his voice. "I called Joe and asked him to come get me, and he started yelling, calling me a sick bastard for imitating his dead friend. I didn't know. I wouldn't have.... Man, the pain in his voice...."

"I would think that Joe would be used to you coming back from the dead." He'd learned from Richie's thoughts how important Joe Dawson was to him.

"Yeah, so for some reason he must think someone took my head. Damn Watchers probably got my head confused with someone else's. When I find out who screwed up and caused Joe all this pain--" He stopped and paled. "Poor Mac! He's probably spent all this time looking for the jerk who killed me. He wouldn't like the thought of my Quickening running around in a stranger. I hope he hasn't taken any stupid challenges because of me."

"You hope he hasn't lost his head," Jim admitted for him.

"Yeah." Richie looked at him. "I don't particularly like the idea that you've been in my head, but it's nice to have someone to talk to about all this. I was never much into secrets, and now I have all these big ones to keep."

"If it makes you feel better, I don't particularly like the idea of being in someone's else head either," Jim pointed out softly.

The youthful-looking man gazed at his companion. "I haven't even thanked you, have I? For going to all the trouble you did to rescue me, for giving me a place to stay last night, for the little introduction you left in my thoughts to calm me. It was really weird as I told Joe your name and address as if I'd always known them. Knowing that kept me from screaming when Joe kept insisting I was dead. I just wish I knew why he was so certain of that. The last thing I remember doing was calling Mac and telling him Joe was with the demon at the old racetrack. How did they interpret that as my being dead?"

"I might be able to shed some light on that," Ryan Dallion said as he joined them under the partly cloudy skies. "According to Jack and Micki, I was running around France killing people for Asteroth right before I died. But to my knowledge, I've never been to France."

"So, you think a demon or something took over our bodies, and we can't remember?" Richie questioned.

"I think we were replaced with fakes, clones, whatever-- and they are the ones that killed, or in your case, was killed. I mean, if I was killing people, you would have seen that in my memories, right, Jim?" Ryan asked, desperation in his eyes as he looked at his rescuer.

"Right. I neither saw you causing havoc overseas, nor Richie being killed."

"But maybe that's because _we_ can't remember," Richie protested.

Ryan shook his head. "I can't remember what happened while I was in Hell either, but Jim saw that, didn't you?" 

His eyes challenged Jim to deny it, but he couldn't. He knew exactly what Satan had done to his captives, and he sort of hoped they would never remember. "Ryan's right. I think at some point doubles were substituted for each of you."

"So, this is where the After Afterlife Symposium is being held," a dry voice called from the doorway.

"Come and join us, Dr. Beckett," Jim said graciously. "You probably know more about what happened than I do."

"Call me Sam, and you're giving me too much credit," the man said as he joined the others. "I may have degrees in quantum and theoretical physics, but this is way out of my field of study. My colleague is on his way here, and I'm sure he's going to burn the circuits looking for answers. However, I'm not sure he's going to find any."

"You didn't have any trouble convincing him you were alive?" Richie questioned.

Sam smiled. "Al and I have been through this before. I disappear, everyone assumes I'm dead, then I show up again. I don't care how many times well-meaning persons told him I was dead, I'm sure Al never gave up on me."

"We think the demons replaced us with doubles after we were snatched," Dallion explained.

"Makes sense," Sam agreed. "My last coherent thought was a situation with Alia and Zoey, but Al seems to think I disappeared long after that."

"Alia and Zoey?" Ryan asked. "Were they your demons?"

"Something like that," Sam said, frowning as he remembered the women. Zoey was Alia's Observer in the project that paralleled Project Quantum Leap, and she was completely evil. However, he had doubts about Alia's willing participation. Perhaps she had as little control as he did. He never knew whose life he would pop into to set right what went wrong, and maybe Alia was just as helpless when she popped into someone's life to make sure right _didn't_ occur.

"Breakfast is ready," Blair called, and Jim knew better than to ignore him. He led the way inside.

"Jack and Micki went back to the hotel to freshen up," Blair explained. "They'll be back soon, Ryan. They wanted to tell you so themselves, but they didn't want to interfere with whatever you guys were doing on the balcony."

"Brainstorming, Chief. Trying to figure out the sequence of events that led up to their capture."

"So, did you come to any conclusions?" the anthropologist asked as he sat down with his eggs and juice. They filled him in on their doubles theory. "Those were your last clear memories before Hell. What do you remember afterwards?"

"Jim," they chorused.

"Everything around him was gray, but he was in color," Richie said.

"And he was bright," Ryan added.

"I felt compelled to look at him," Sam replied. "And to obey him."

"Yes, I felt that, too," Ryan said, and Richie nodded in agreement. "It didn't feel right leaving him in that grayness, but he told us to go, that you would take care of us, Blair. Thanks, by the way. What the two of you did--"

"We did because we could," Blair replied, accepting the gratitude on both their behalves. Jim didn't accept thanks well.

Richie gasped and looked at the door, then sent a frantic glance around the room.

"Relax," Jim said, standing to walk across the room. "You're safe here, Richie. I promise."

Jim opened the door before the man standing in the hall could knock. He smiled as Richie's thoughts identified the stranger. Even without the ponytail, this man had to be Duncan MacLeod. "Come in, Mr. MacLeod. There's someone here eager to see--"

"Mac!" Richie yelled, setting his plate on the coffee table. "Man, am I glad to see you! Joe called you, huh? I didn't mean to scare him like that. It was just--" His rapid monologue came to a crashing stop as Duncan stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "Mac?"

"This can't be happening," the Scot mumbled, obviously shaken.

"It was just a mistake, Mac. The Watchers must have screwed up the report or something," Richie rushed to explain. "I'm not dead. See?" He raised his hands to the sides of his head and gave a small jerk. "Firmly attached."

"But I--" MacLeod stopped as his vision started to tunnel. Someone led him to a chair and pushed his head down.

Richie knelt in front of his friend, teacher, and surrogate father. "It's all right. I'm here. Really here, man."

"But I saw you. You were--" Still MacLeod couldn't say the words.

"You saw me dead? We've been thinking about that. What we think happened was--"

"I killed you."

"You what!" Richie had never considered that possibility. But Ahriman had played with his mentor's mind quite a bit. "No, Mac. It wasn't me. Just another hallucination, maybe."

"Joe...Joe saw me do it. And so did Methos." The words had no inflection.

"It wasn't me. It was a double." The hunched shoulders started to shake. "Mac?" Helplessly, he put his arms around his friend as the sobs wracked through the powerful body.

Jim and Blair ushered the others outside, leaving the two Immortals to their privacy.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jim slid the last of the furniture back into place, and gave a pleased sigh. The protective dome was gone, as well as all the recent guests of Supernatural Sanctuary, Inc.-- never let it be said that fear ever affected Blair's sense of humor. The refugees had been claimed, and bundled off to their respective homes in the care of loved ones.

By far, Richie Ryan's reunion had been the most emotional, but also the one Jim best identified with. He knew Duncan MacLeod's fear intimately; only his nightmare had occurred at a fountain and not at an abandoned racetrack in Paris. Admiral Al Calavicci had merely sauntered into the loft, wrapped his arms around Sam, and said it was about time he made it home. They had all sat down, discussed theory and fact, came up with no real conclusions, and eventually decided they never would. Richie and Duncan had climbed into a classic black T-bird, wringing a promise from their hosts that if they ever needed them for anything, they should not think twice about calling Seacouver and/or Paris. Sam and Al had stepped into the back of the waiting military vehicle, which would carry them to the airport where a jet would wing them back to Stallion's Gate, New Mexico and a party thrown by Ziggy, Gushy, and the rest of the project team. A series of hugs, and kisses from Micki, had preceded the packing of the black Mercedes. They all promised to keep in close contact, considering the similarity of their work, and Jack left some strange material for Simon to read.

"Was this all just one long weekend?" Blair asked, coming in from taking the trash to the incinerator.

"Yeah, it does seem more like a month, doesn't it?" Jim agreed, flopping down on the now properly positioned sofa. "Do you have to go in? Oh, that's right, you've finished the dissertation," he remembered belatedly.

Blair paled and took the opposite end of the sofa. "You know?"

"Satan told me."

"Shit. I never meant for you to find out like that," Blair said quickly, searching for hurt in Jim's voice or eyes. Even though he couldn't find it, he went on. "This wasn't a betrayal, Jim--"

"I know, Chief. Don't sweat it. Like I told the Old One, you were just waiting for things to settle down before you talked with me." Blair stared at him. "What? Just because I expect betrayal doesn't mean I see it in every action. I'm perfectly capable of giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"I think you need more liquids and a nap," Blair said, going over to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"No more," Jim begged. "You had me replenishing my fluids so much last night, I was getting up every hour on the hour." He took the offered bottle anyway.

"Considering the short while you stayed in bed, that couldn't have been too many times. What was it? The number of people in the loft, or are you worried about retaliation from you know who?"

Jim gave a brief shrug. "Nothing specific. I just felt I had to keep watch. And...."

"And?"

"I don't know. At times I felt like _I_ was under watch."

"From above or below?" Although he knew Heaven and Hell were directionless, the old references were understood by all.

"From here."

"Someone's watching us?"

"No. Not now anyway. Probably just leftover vibes from the Millennium Group. Don't worry. I'll keep my 'feelers' up for a few days, just to be sure."

"No. Your 'feelers' have been up for too long already. You need some downtime, Jim. We all do."

Jim closed his eyes, then opened them when he remembered something important. "I never thanked you, did I? For getting the shades to safety?"

"I was just doing my job, man, the one you asked me to do," Blair said, refusing the thanks.

"Then I'd like to thank you for saving my life," Jim countered.

"When?"

"When I didn't think I would make it out of Hell, you called to me."

"I called?" He stopped, remembered. _Damn it, Jim. Get here!_ "Yeah, so?"

"I heard you. That's how Geryon and I made it to the arch. You gave me your strength and I passed it along to Geryon."

"Oh." Blair was silent for a moment. "I thought you didn't remember any of this."

"I'm a Sentinel, remember? It's all in my brain if I take the time to sort through it."

Blair shook his head. "Do your brain a favor and sort through this some other time, okay? It's been battered enough. And I just don't mean physically. Your emotions have taken a beating, too."

"You mean in Hell?"

"Yes, but here also. I know what went through your mind when you heard MacLeod's story."

Jim dropped his head. "So, it went through yours as well. Damn."

"Jim, I know you find this hard to believe, but I think the whole incident is a lot more painful to you than to me. I lived through it, but you're the one who's living with the memories." 

"Penance, Chief."

"You've been forgiven. When will you accept that?"

"I've accepted. I just don't think I'll ever forget."

Blair gave him a fond smile. "You're one of a kind, Jim Ellison, and I thank God for that."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"That's variable. You _do_ spend an inordinate amount of time on my shit list," the younger man teased.

"Am I on there now?" Jim asked solemnly.

"No, man. Despite the bloodletting, you were on your best behavior this weekend, Jim. In fact, I've never been so proud of anyone."

"Good."

Blair frowned. "Why does my opinion matter so much to you?"

Jim rubbed his hands across his face wearily. "I don't know, Chief. I just know it does." He slumped against the padded arm of the sofa.

"You have a perfectly good bed upstairs," Blair reminded him.

"I'll go...up...in a minute," Jim murmured, asleep by the time he whispered the last word.

Blair grabbed an afghan and pulled it over his partner, resisting the urge to caress his cheek. Jim looked so young when he slept. It was hard to reconcile the peaceful figure with the man who had fought demons and blown up Hell. He smiled. Oh, he was definitely going to get mileage out of that, not to mention the other things Jim had revealed as they traveled that odd journey together.

But that was for later. Now, he'd let his tired hero catch up on much-needed rest. He grabbed and anthro mag that had come in the mail, then settled into Jim's yellow chair.

By his reckoning, it was his turn to keep watch.

*****

_"Do you offer frequent flyer miles?"_

_"We don't, but you can always ask my brother."_

_Humor. That was promising, Jim thought as he found himself walking with Michael by the mountain lake. "Shall I ask how much trouble I'm in, or is it part of my punishment to wonder?"_

_"Depends on what you're atoning for."_

_"Well, I sent a Hell-beast here to frolic with the children."_

_"Your children. If you thought he was harmless enough, who are we to disagree?"_

_"I called on you for help in Hell, even though you warned me I'd be on my own."_

_"You had faith that I wouldn't let you down."_

_Jim was getting frustrated. Surely, he'd done something wrong. "All that is Created is sacred. I destroyed Hell."_

_"It will rebuild."_

_Jim growled, then looked at his general. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"_

_"Immensely," Michael replied, smiling. "I would think you have enough trouble without looking for it."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_Michael patted his shoulder. "Just because you're here doesn't mean I'm calling you on the carpet, Jim. I happen to like your company."_

_"Thank you," the mortal replied, embarrassed._

_"I also happen to like your style. Lucifer must be dumbfounded-- or he will be once he recovers. Boom, huh?" Michael laughed._

_"Big boom," Jim agreed, chuckling loudly, as he and the archangel settled down for a nice visit._

"You look much better," Blair said, as Jim's eyes fluttered open later in the day.

"Michael's a good influence on me," Jim replied, confirming that he'd been with his general.

"So, everything's okay?"

"Uh huh. How long have I been out?"

"Just a few hours. Simon called. They recovered Little Mo's body, and he sort of shoved H. and Rafe's investigation in the right direction. He'll be over as soon as he clears up some paperwork."

"Better order some food in. That new Thai place?"

Blair nodded. "Sounds good." He stood up to go find the telephone number. A light touch to his wrist stopped him.

"Hey, Chief?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Michael's not the only one who's a good influence on me."

Blair flushed. "Does that mean I can order you the vegetarian plate?"

Jim frowned, but his blue eyes were dancing as he looked at his partner and whined, "I thought I blew up Hell."

"What if we add a little fried demon as a side dish?" Blair teased.

Jim laughed, and draped his arm across Blair's shoulders. "Sounds like a winner, Chief."

Epilogue

Al Calavicci sat across from his friend, Sam Beckett, in the military jet and tried not to stare. But it was difficult and he was failing miserably.

"It's okay, Al," Sam said, catching the concerned look. "I'm not going to leap out of here. At least, I don't think I am."

Al nodded, not looking the least bit convinced. "What do you make of this Ellison guy?" he asked. As long as they were talking, he could stare all he wanted to, right?

"What do you mean? I'm sure you ran a check on him as soon as I told you where I was." Sam knew if Al had found anything "odd" in Jim's background, the admiral would have arrived at the loft with military backup.

"What kind of racket is this he's running?"

"Racket? Al, he risked his life going to Hell and bringing me and the others back. I really don't think you can consider that a racket."

"Fine. But what does he get out of it? Other than everything you know.... Maybe I should put someone on him for a while-- make sure he doesn't try to sell the information he has on the project."

"Don't you dare!" Sam objected quickly. "He didn't even know he was going to find me, so I doubt if he has buyers waiting around for hot info."

"Okay, but that still leaves us with the question of why. Everyone has to have a motivation, Sam," Al fretted.

"Were my leaps motivated, Al? I think Jim has as much control over what he does as I did. And I think Blair is just like you-- his Observer and researcher. Tell me, Al, what did we get out of all the leaping?"

Al shrugged. "A sense of accomplishment?"

Sam smiled. "Yes, exactly. I think that's Jim and Blair's reward as well."

Al took a moment to consider what Sam had said. It made sense in the strange way everything made sense around Sam. "God, it's good to have you home, Sam," he said fervently.

Sam grinned. "It's good to be home, Al."

*****

Joe Dawson heard the door to his bar open, and he came out of the back, leaning heavily on his cane. Whenever he got upset or angry, it seemed to settle in his hips, making manipulating his artificial legs that much harder. "MacLeod!" he called, recognizing the tall outline in the closed, and therefore dark bar. "Did you find that sick son of a bitch who called me? I hope like hell you took his head!"

"Gee, Joe, is it because I didn't pay my bar tab?" Richie asked, stepping around his mentor and grinning.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Joe said, glad there was a table in front of him, or else he would have toppled to the floor. "Richie?"

The Immortal hurried forward to help his friend into a chair. "Yeah, Joe. It's me. In the actual flesh," he said softly. He held out his hand and let the older man grasp it solidly.

"Mac, tell me this is real, or I'm going to think I'm going out of my fucking mind," Joe murmured.

"Aye, Joseph, it's our Rich," MacLeod said, as he stepped behind the counter, gathering glasses and a bottle of the bar's best scotch.

"How?" Joe asked bewilderedly. "I was there. I saw--"

"You were there, and Mac was there," Richie explained. "But _I_ wasn't. That demon dude, Ahriman, he sent me to Hell, and replaced me with a double."

"Hell? So, you were dead?"

Richie shook his head. "Not dead, but trapped, chained really."

Joe looked to Mac for confirmation, not because he didn't believe Richie, but because he still needed reassurance that he wasn't having some kind of hallucination. "But you managed to escape?"

"Someone came for me and the two other guys who were trapped too. The man I told you about, Jim Ellison."

"A cop and former Army Ranger." 

Mac raised an eyebrow. 

"Just because the guy isn't an Immortal doesn't mean I couldn't find out anything about him," Joe informed him dryly.

"Did your Watcher contacts tell you that he's more than that?" Mac asked. "That he has the ability to go to Hell and take on Satan?"

Joe looked at him incredulously. Okay. He had swallowed the idea of Immortals, and when MacLeod had been terrorized by Ahriman, he opened his mind a bit wider and accepted that demons existed. But.... "You're telling me that there's a mortal who can--"

"Can and did, Joe!" Richie said excitedly. "He blew the hell of out the place-- literally!"

Joe laughed, then reached out to wrap his arms around the young Immortal. He'd known Richie even before his first death, and felt rather paternal toward him. "Tell me what this Jim Ellison of yours likes to drink, and I'll send him a case of it."

Mac smiled, ignoring the tears that were flowing again. "I left your number with him, Joe. Told him if he ever needed anything, it was his."

"Damn right." Joe sniffed, reluctantly letting Richie go, and picking up the shot glass with a shaky hand. "A toast, gentlemen. To the return of Richie Ryan! Welcome home, son."

The three glasses tapped, then the contents were tossed smoothly into the back of throats raw from emotion. It was the most satisfying burn all three men had had in a long time.

*****

"So, I guess you guys have made quite a headway in the manifest since I've been gone, huh?" Ryan Dallion asked wistfully. 

"Not as much as you probably think," Jack replied from the driver's seat with a grim smile.

"I can't believe it's been ten years," Ryan said, glad that the highway looked relatively the same. He'd been shocked to see how popular cell phones and computers were. And what the hell was a DVD player?

"We're sorry that it took so long for us to figure it all out," Micki told him sadly.

"It's okay. I mean, I don't think I was hanging around there, waiting on you guys to mount a rescue. Of course, I don't remember a lot that happened there anyway. I'm just glad you got the idea and found someone who could do something about it."

"You need to thank Rashid. He's the one who recommended Jim," Jack said. "But I don't think even Rashid knows all of what's going on there in Cascade."

"Jim wasn't what you expected?"

"No. None of them were. Jim wields the power, but Blair and Simon feed it somehow.... At least that's what I think is happening. But I'm not sure. They were the most honest, non-forthcoming people I've ever met," Jack griped.

"But they got Ryan back for us," Micki reminded him, reaching out to fold her hand in Ryan's. "That's what we asked for, and that's what we got, Jack. If we want to know the truth, I guess that's for another visit."

Jack shook his head. "We've asked them for enough. If we're meant to know everything they do, we'll find it out eventually. Until then, I think we should just enjoy the good fortune they returned to us. Welcome home, Ryan."

Ryan reached his arm around Micki to pat Jack on the arm, then he laid his head on Micki's shoulder. "There's no place I'd rather be, guys. By the way, which one of you is going to tell Johnny to get out of my bed?"

Jack and Micki looked at each other guiltily, then all three laughed, knowing that everything would fall into place. When they were together, it always did.

*****

"The tape is very convincing."

"I know," Tony Bozeman said. _Why do you think I showed it to you, you idiot?_ "I would like the Council convened so we can proceed with the rituals."

"Is that wise?" the other man asked. "If you're wrong, Det. Ellison will wind up dead and we'll have to deal with the police. Nothing makes them more diligent than searching for a cop killer."

"You've seen the tape. He will survive." _Convene the Council or I'll strangle you._ "You have the proof in your hand. You must know that I'm right."

The man slowly nodded. "The Council will convene. I'll contact you when everything is ready."

"Thank you." _Gee, you get to live another day._ "Have a good evening."

Bozeman walked out of the office, smiling at his success. Even the diehards would have to believe after Jim made it through the rituals.

Maybe man would survive for another millennium after all.

THE END


End file.
